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LOVELL’S LIBRARY 


C-A-T^XiOa-TJE- 


1. Hyparion, by H. W. Longfellow, 

2. Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow 
8. The Happy Boy, by BjSrnaon. . . 

4. Arne, by Bjornaon 

6. Frankenstein; or. the Modern Pro- 
metheus, by Mrs. Shelley 

6. The Last of the Mohicans, by J. 


Fenimore Cooper 20 

7. Clytie, by Joseph Hatton 20 

6. The Moonstone, by Collins, P’t I.. 10 

9. The Moonstone, by Collins, P'tll.lO 

10. Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. 20 

11. The Coming Race, by Lytton 10 

12. Leila, by Lord Lytton 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker.. 20 

14. The Tricks of the Gret. ks Unveiled; 

or, the Art of Winning at every 
Game, by Robert Houdin 20 

15. L*Abb6 Constantin, i)y Hal6vy..20 

10. Freckle*, by R. F. iFtec’diff 20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay .20 
lb. They Were Married 1 by Walter Be- 

•ant and James Rice 10 

19. Seekers after God, by Canon Farrar, 20 

20. The Spanish Nun, by Thos. De 

Quincey 10 

21. The Green Mountain Boys, by 

Judge D. P. Thompson 20 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Sc ribe 20 

23. Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

24. The New Magdalen, by Whkie 

Collins 20 

25. Divorce, by Margaret Lee 20 

20. Life of Washington, by Henley.. 20 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs. W. A. 

Saville 15 

28. Single Heart and Double Face, by 

Charles RcaOe 10 

29. Irene, by Carl Detlef 20 

30. ViceVersa; or, a Lesson to Fathers, 

by F. Anstey 20 

31. Ernest Maltravers, by Lord Lytton, 20 


32. The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton... 10 
S3, John Halifax, by Miss Malock.,.,20 
34. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, being 
Part I of the Giant Raft, by 

Jules Verne 10 

85. The Cryptogram, being Part II of 
the Giant Raft, by Jules Verne.. 10 

36. Life of Marion, i)y Horry andWeems. 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. Tale of Two Citieo, by Dickens. . . ,20 

39. The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 

riage of Moira Fergus, by Wm. 
Black 10 

41. A Marriagein High Life, by Octave 

Feuillet 20 

j 42. Robin, by Mrs. Parr.. 20 

43. Two on a Tower, byThomas Hardy .20 
: 44. Rasselaa, by Samuel Johnson 10 


45. Alice, or, the Mysteries, being Part 

II of Ernest Maltravers 20 

46. Duke of Kandos, by A. Matthey . . .20 

47. Baron Munchausen 10 

48. A Princess of Thule, by Wm. Black. 20 

49. The Secret Despatch, by Grant. ...20 

60. Early Days of Christianity, by Can- 
on Farrar, D,D., Part I SO 

Early Days of Christianity, by (Jaa- 
on Farrar, D.D., Part II .20 

51. Vicarof Wakefield, by Oliver Gold- > 

52. Progress and Poverty, by Henry | 

George 20 

53. The Spy, by J. Fenimore Cooper, . . 20 

54. East Lynne, by Mrs. Henry Wood.20 


55. A Strange Story, by Lord Litton. .20 
66. Adam Bede, by Geo. Eliot, Part I. . 15 
Adam Bede, by Geo. Eliot, Part II. .15 

57. The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon. 20 

58. Portia, or, By Passions Rocked, by 

The Duchess 20 

59. Last D.-rys of Pompeii, by Lytton. 20 

60. The Two Duchesses, being the se- 

quel to the Duke of Kandos, by 
A. Mathey 20 

61. Tom Brown’s School Days at Rug- 

by 20 

62. TheWocing O’t, by Mrs. Alexander, 

Part 1 15 

The Wooing O’t, by Mrs. Alexander, 
Part II 15 


63. The Vendetta, Tales of Love and ' 

Passion, by Honore de Balzac.. 20 j 

64. Hypatia, by Rev. Kingsley, Part I. .16 j 
Hypatia, by Kingsley, Part II. . . .15 : 

66. Selma, by Mrs. J. Gregory Smith. .15 { 

66. Margaret and her Bridesmaids... 20 j 

67. Horse Shoe Robinson, Part 1 15 

Horse Shoe Robinson, Part II 15 I 

68. Gulliver’s Travels, by Dean Swift.. 20 | 

69. Amos Barton, by George Eliot.... 10 i 

70. The Berber, by W. E. Mayo 20 1 

71. Silas Marnei, by George Eliot.... 10 i 

72. The Queen of the County 26 ' 

73. Life of Cromwell, by Paxton Hood.. 16 I 

74. Jana Eyre, by Charlotte Bront6...20 | 

75. Child’s History of England, by 

Charles Dickens 20 

76. Molly Bawu. by The Duchess 20 | 

77. Pillone, by William Bergsoe ID 

78. Phyllis, by the Duchess. 20 

79. Romola, by George Eliot, Part I... 15 i 
Romola, by George Eliot, Part II.. 15 : 

80. Science in Short Chapters 20 j 

81. Zanoni, by Lord Lytton 20 1 

82. A Daughter of Heth, by W. Black. 20 j 

83. The Right and Wrong U ses of the 

Bible, by Rev. R. Heber Newton. 20 | 
84 Night and Morning, by Lord Lytton 1 

Part I ..16 , 

N i ght and Morning, by Lord Lytton 
Part II 16 I 


.20 

.20 

.10 

10 


10 


“DISARMED ! 


A NOVEL. 


Vr" 


SI- 


7 

C'-- 


BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS, 

\\ 


Author of “Kitty,” “Holidays in Eastern France,” “Dr. 
Jacob,” “ Exchange No Robbery,” Etc. 


NEW YORK : / 

JOHN W. LOVELL COACPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street. 


\ r*. 


E273 


“DISARMED. 


CHAPTER I. 

I COULD never understand why a man should be contempt- 
uously spoken of as living by his wits. ’Tis surely the most 
charming compliment in the world. For the eking out exist- 
ence on five thousand a year requires no uncommon parts. 
To saw, plane, or dig potatoes is within the narrowest capacity 
also. But to come into the world unencumbered with earthly 
goods, as a bird or a butterfly, to make the day’s invention 
.suffice for the day’s needs ! Here is a phenomenon that 
strikes the slowest imagination. 

Can we conceive the heaviness of the world without the 
engaging souls who, as the saying goes, live by their wits ? 
From Homer to Harlequin, from Michael Angelo to Mounte- 
bank, the wit of the few alleviates the dullness of the many. 
Knowledge does not always gladden, philanthropy drives us 
mad. The contriver of happy surprises saves society from 
universal suicide. Begrudge not, then, thy sixpence to your 
poor Saltinbanque, O fellow-groaner under the burdens of 
life ! If he ease thee not of a leaden hour, he is sure to do 
such a service for neighbors in worse plight than thyself. 
Give him sixpence, ay, a shilling, cheerfully, and bless him 
into the bargain, for he also is a benefactor of humanity ! 

The blazing logs of a handsome fire lit up the winter twi- 
light ; silver tea service, vermilion hangings, and every other 
brilliant object in the room glowing with light and warmth, 
as one of four lazy loungers thus questioned another : “ Ar- 
thura, what would you have done had you been born dull ? ” 

The young lady never so much as lifted her eyes to the 
speaker, but continued to turn over the pages of her illus- 
trated paper, dimpled wrist and fair hand, on which sparkled 
diamonds, showing to as much advantage as if the leaves 
were turned for no other purpose. Then lazily and inoffen- 
.sively, with eyes still bent on the page, she answered the 


4 


disarmed: 


question by putting another : “ What have you done all your 
life ? ” Then came a malicious little laugh from the depths 
of one easy-chair, an interjection of reproof from the. other, 
but the first speaker rose from his seat, and stood glaring at 
the offender. 

“You are growing intolerable,” he said. “But since you 
call me dull, I will be dull to you, and to your cost.” 

“ Oh dear 1 don’t, Mr. Valerian,” began a timid feminine 
voice. “ Arlhura did not mean it.” 

“ Now, Colley,” cried the occupant of the chair opposite, 
“ I forbid you to interfere. If Arthura and Valerian did not 
hate each other they would be as dull as you and I.” 

The first little old lady sank back in her chair, breathing 
a sigh of resignation. The second leaned forward, all alert- 
ness. The pair between them presented also a striking con- 
trast, the girl quiet, even languid, the man evidently irritated 
past endurance. 

“ Such ingratitude it has never been my lot to punish, for 
punish you 1 will. Turn no more of your dull people over to 
me.” Arthura only smiled. “ The fact is you are fast being 
spoiled. But your task from to-day will be to make bricks 
without straw. No appeal shall induce me to have pity on 
you.” 

Arthura laughed. “ You should not put such questions. 
I can not help it if I do really find you dull sometimes.” 

“ Do not say that, dear Arthura,” again remonstrated Made- 
moiselle Colette ; but she was straightway silenced by her 
formidable hostess. 

“ It is your book-learning, perhaps,” the girl went on, in 
the quietest manner. “ Nothing but books, books, books, 
from morning till night. I should grow into a dullard too if I 
read as many.” 

“ You might be more of a scollard with advantage,” retorted 
the other. “ It is surely as well to know the three R’s. 
Don’t, however, look to me any more to instruct your ignor- 
ance. Find some one else to teach you what every house- 
maid ought to know.” Thus saying, the irate speaker dashed 
out of the room, Arthura’s provoking little laugh reaching him 
on the threshold. 

“ What a question to ask ! Yet it sets one thinking,” she 
said, looking in the fire. “Why are so many people dull, 1 
wonder ? I suppose it is the curse of sin, the old Adam in us. 
And what should I have done had I been thus afflicted ? A 
blind man gets a dog to lead him ; a cripple can buy a wooden 


disarmed: 


s 


leg ; trumpets supply ears. But what shop could I go to for 
a parcel of wit And a spry beggar is worth a golden fool, 
and a farthing’s worth of wit fair change for fifty pound, says 
the proverb.” 

“ Does the proverb really say so ? ” asked Colette. But 
why did you not say this to Mr: Valerian.? It would have 
amused him. It would have put him in a good temper.” 

“Let Mr. Valerian be,” answered Arthura. “He tries to 
crush me with his learning. But I am his match with the 
tongue.” 

“ Don’t quarrel — pray don’t quarrel. Try to see his best 
side,” pleaded the little Frenchwoman. 

“ Will you always be a child ? ” broke in the mistress of the 
house.- “ My dear good Colley, if Arthura and Valerian try 
to crush each other, where’s the harm ? Leave the rivals 
alone.” 

“ Why should they be rivals .? ” asked Colette, with a tone 
of pain. 

“ Why should they not be cherubim .? That is as rational 
a question. But now upstairs for the business of dressing ! 
Be sure to look in and give me a finishing touch, Arthura. 
Benson knows no more how to dress me than if she had been 
lady-in-waiting to a savage with only shell fringes for ward- 
robe.” 

The three ladies rose, Arthura soon to appear in her pat- 
roness’s tiring-chamber well dressed enough for a handsome 
girl of twenty-three, even had she been an heiress instead of 
an underling. 

“ Are you going to wear all these .? ” she asked, glancing at 
the dressing-table with unabashed girlish amusement. It glit- 
tered with gold and jewelry, and from her seat before the 
mirror their withered owner contemplated the treasure, smiling 
an odd smile of satisfaction. 

“ Now, Arthura, the truth. Is it worth while for an old 
woman like me to trick herself out with rubies and pearls .? ” 

Arthura was curiously turning over the first ornaments that 
came to hand. Dazzling indeed was the display ! Amethyst 
contrasted with topaz — the violet and the crocus ; chrysolite, 
glowworm among gems ; opals for pensive loveliness, and 
rubies far rosy lips and smiles ; the modest yet bewitching 
sapphire, azure of heaven’s own ; pearls for the princesses 
born, and diamonds for nature’s duchesses, with heaps of gold 
and silver beaten into beautiful shapes, broken sun-rays, rip- 
pling moonlight — all were here, and the girl contemplated 


6 


disarmed: 


them with the unenvying eye of youth content to be itself. 
Thus questioned, she looked straight at the speaker, then at 
the reflection of the small shrunken face opposite. 

“ No,” was the prompt answer. “ If I were sitting before 
the glass as you are now, and looking at myself, I should say 
it is not worth while. But seated at the head of the dinner- 
table, and seeing everybody staring, not at me, but at my 
diamonds, I should say. Yes, it is worth while.” 

Miss Hermitage laughed that worldly little laugh so full of 
character. “ I knew I should get no beating about the bush 
from you. Miss Speak-your-mind. Then I am bound to be- 
fool myself because jewels impress people ? ” ^ 

“ And amuse them.” 

“ You are right. It is our duty to amuse people. What is 
amusement but another name for happiness ? ” Miss Hermi- 
tage said. “ Why was I unhappy in my youth ? Because I 
never got any amusement. Why am I as happy now as the 
day is long, though but a withered old woman ? Because I 
am amused.” 

“ Then we will wear as many jewels as we can carry, and 
never mind the preposterous figure we make,” Arthura said, 
culling one or two trinkets of unusual size and splendor. 

We will wear this, and this, and this,” she added, adjusting 
circlet and star, clasp and aigrette. 

“You are a perpetual riddle to me, Arthura. I do be- 
lieve you are the only person in the house not afraid of 
me.” 

“Why should I be afraid of you, or any one? You can 
only send me away. I do not wish to go. But I must be 
unconcerned and outspoken sometimes. Well, yes, prepos- 
terous was too plain a word to use ; yet I am sure, at my age 
and in my place, you would have had it in your mind.” 

“Never mind the word. One thing is certain, I hear all 
your sharp speeches. You can say nothing harder of me out 
of hearing.” 

“ These diamonds set off your velvet gown mightily,” Ar- 
thura said, paying no heed to the last remark. “Yes, after 
all, age, not youth, is the time for jewels. They fascinate 
people’s eyes, and turn their attention from deficiencies. 
They do the sparkling we can not do for ourselves. One, 
just one more ornament, dearest Gossip. This diamond 
spray in your head-dress, and just one more, this dewdrop — 
it is nothing more — to glisten under your chin.” 

“ As you please. Miss Impertinent. That was not a stupid 


disarmed: 


7 


question Valerian put to you. What would have become of 
you had you been born dull ? We had been talking of it just 
before, Colette and I, and saying how lucky it is that you can 
earn so much, and with all your incumbrances and responsi- 
bilities too. But now every one is dying to get you : I mean 
my old cousin, Mr. Constantine, and my young cousin, Ste- 
phana — the countess, as we should call her.” 

“ I love, Mr. Constantine, and the Countess Stephana be- 
witches me. But you ar^a good mistress ; I will stay with 
you till you turn me away.” 

^ “I shall liot turn you away,” was the good-natured reply. 
“ That is to say, so long as you amuse me. I must be 
amused.” * 

“We will amuse you,” Arthura said, gayly. “ It would be 
hard indeed if we could not amuse ourselves when money 
drops from the trees like ripe apples.” 

“ Money does not seem to have much to do with it. Who 
so gaysome as you*rself ? ” 

^ “I think people are like flints,” Arthura made quick reply, 
with that piquant gravity as natural to her as exuberant mirth ; 
“ you must crush them to make the sparks fly.” 

“ My dear Arthura, who has crushed you ? Your father 
had a sweet temper, you say, although he was a sad — But 
never mind. And your step-mother is as harmless as a pet 
tortoise.” 

“Oh ! I was not thinking of human ‘beings, but circum- 
stances. I am the luckiest person in the world ; still ” — 
here the young face clouded — “ what if I should fall ill, should 
die, my father’s debts unpaid, my little brother and sister un- 
educated, my step-mother helpless as a baby ? ” 

“ Well, you are not in the least likely to die just yet ; so 
let us go down-stairs and enjoy ourselves. You answer for 
it that no one will be bored. The opening night of a season 
is critical.” 

But Arthura only laughed away these misgivings. Always 
gayest after a pensive thought, to-night she seemed irrepres- 
sible. Crushed or no, the sparks flew in all directions. 

On the threshold of the dining-room, just as she had opened 
the door for Miss Hermitage, she saw Valerian coming out 
of his study. Closing the door after her mistress, without 
shutting it, she awaited him just to say, with extraordinary 
hauteur : 

“ You may be as dull as you please, Mr. Valerian, but in- 
civility before Miss Hermitage’s guests is quite another mat- 


8 


disarmed: 


ter. You remember the conditions on which you hired me 
into her service.” 

He bowed, even more frigid than herself. “ I hope I know 
my duties as host without having to come to you for instruc- 
tion,” he said. 

Then he opened the door, and Colette, looking tremblingly 
from one to the other, saw that they had at least made up 
their minds to a show of courtesy. 


CHAPTER H. 

Flirtation is of every age, and Miss Hermitage, who had 
been starved at seventeen, could eat and be filled at seventy. 
Do not ice-men relish pomegranates close under the pole- 
star, and foggy Londoners delight in roses at Christmas-tide ? 
The ineffable pastime of coquetry has no season, and may be 
indulged in when wigs are set as a snare instead of sunny 
curls or locks Hyperion, and we smile adoringly with lips 
parted showing ivory not our own. Miss Hermitage was now 
. amused in right good earnest. There were bright-eyed maid- 
ens and sumptuous matrons in her salon, a fair company ar- 
rayed with the respect due to the richest hostess in the 
place. One acknowledged beauty and one finished coquette 
were there, of course ; what assemblage was ever without ? 
But alike lovely dimples and queenly figures, arch smiles and 
eyes irresistible, were neglected for the oldest and least lovely 
woman present. The irony of the situation pleased Miss 
Hermitage. There she sat, like a young and beautiful queen 
on her throne, one knight holding her fan, another her bou- 
quet, a third protecting her complexion from the fire by a 
hand-screen, a fourth seated obsequiously at her feet. These 
clerical henchmen, however, would not on the morrow make 
merry at their hostess’s expense. A rich old maid is a Gol- 
conda, a river flowing over golden sands, to curates. Miss 
Hermitage was safe from fairer rivals in these hearts, beat- 
ing calmly, strangers to passion. She accepted the chival- 
rous homage now paid to her, whether lay or clerical, smiling 
inwardly. The irony of k! In girlhood neglected, in mid- 
dle life forlorn, in old age feted, flattered, befooled ! 

The dazzling evening had reached its acme, when two fig- 
ures brought a new and romantic element into play. In a 
certain degree outward uniformity and commonplaceness 


disarmed: 


9 


must stamp every company in which the men an women are 
dressed precisely after the same fashion. Here, without any 
surprise being intended, came one of those happy surprises 
alone enough to enliven the dullest fellowship. 

Among the latest to do homage to their new sovereign was 
a small spare figure of oddest yet imposing appearance. He 
was so old that his dress, which for the most part belonged 
to the last century, well became him. Nor were his manners 
wholly of this. Ceremonious, courtly, fastidious, he went 
through his social observances with a mixture of airiness and 
solemnity that accorded with his costume — scrupulously fit- 
ting black silk hose, black knee-breeches, and long-lappeted 
coat of silky black cloth, and on his bosom ruffles of finest 
lawn, on which sparkled a diamond star. Diamonds also 
adorned his shoe-buckles. But engaging as was his general 
appearance, the fine, delicate features of the old cavalier 
attracted still more attention. Carved ivory was not finer, 
more delicate, than this small, rare physiognomy, nor the 
smoothest vellum of more harmonious texture than his beard- 
less cheek. He wore no wig to hide the baldness of a beau- 
tifully shaped head, and his carriage was erect as that of a 
soldier. This dainty apparition now stood before the lady 
of the house, kissing her hand, and bowing low, as if in the 
presence of majesty itself. The little knot of admirers made 
way, and Mr. Constantine sat down beside Miss Hermi- 
tage. 

“ Praise me, cousin,” he began ; “ I have risen from my 
bed — I was going to say my grave — to pay my respects to 
you. Pray be congratulated. A brilliant assemblage, and 
superbly entertained. Whilst as regards your own appear- 
ance, it is faultless.” 

He bowed low to the diamonds. Miss Hermitage laughed. 

“ It all amuses me. Why should it not ? ” 

“ Why not, indeed ? I see with pleasure, too, that the old 
family plate is at last called into requisition, for I confess that I 
stopped on my way to invigorate my old frame with a sip of 
your excellent Madeira. The gold and silver service, the 
crystal, the exotics — everything matches to a nicety.” 

“ I have not lifted a finger. Valerian and Arthura ar- 
ranged everything.” 

‘‘ Ah, that incomparable creature with the legendary name ! 
She ministered to my wants, and flitted about me so charm- 
ingly just now that I fairly lost my head.” 

“ You are welcome to lose your head, Constantine, but I 


10 


disarmed: 


can not lose Arthura. I divine your covert meaning, Jesuit 
that you are ! But the girl is worth half my fortune to me.” 

“ You are too rich, Christina ; you have an admirable 
steward in your second cousin — nephew, I should say — ” 

“ Valerian and I call each other cousins ; I will be no- 
body’s aunt,” Miss Hermitage said, tartly. “ It is a venerable 
title, and not to my taste.” 

“ I ask pardon. Then there is that ingenuous little French- 
woman, the dear creature I heard playing so divinely just now 
— you have her.” 

“ I could no more do without Colette than I could do with- 
out the other two. We have known each other for fifty years.” 

“ Oh, misnamed Christina ! You will not, then, spare me 
one out of the matchless three ? ” 

“ Cleverness is to be had for money. Go to the right mar- 
ket and bid for it, as I have done.” 

“ Cleverness, yes. But wit, sprightliness, Arthura’s be- 
witching audacity ! Where can I find such a paragon } 
Well, go your ways. When I am laid — it may be to-morrow 
— in my narrow bed, you will repent. ‘ Poor Constantine,’ 
you will say, ‘ if I had only humored him ! ’ ” 

. “ Indeed I shall never think of you in your narrow bed. 
What good would it do } ” 

“ Take me to your bosom now, then,” he said, playfully. 
“ Make my few remaining days happy. I would go the length 
of marrying you, cousin — on my soul I would — for the sake 
of being cheered by that pretty, pretty thing.” 

“ I am much obliged to you I will go to the length of 
saying that you may come and see me as often as you please 
for the sake of Arthura’s society,” Miss Hermitage said, with 
extreme good nature. “ But here comes Stephana ! — Con- 
stantine and Stephana ! Will the stars fall next ^ I am in- 
deed honored.” 

“ I will offer my respects to our kinswoman later ; your 
Madeira tempts me once more down-stairs.” So saying, Mr. 
Constantine, doing reverence to his hostess after the stately 
fashion of several reigns ago, made way for the second appa- 
rition in Miss Hermitage’s crowded reception-rooms. For 
the pale, pensive lady, almost unearthly-looking in her sad- 
ness, was also phenomenal in her dress. There were scores 
of white dresses in the room ; not one in the least like the 
white robe of Stephana. Other women wore pearls; her 
pearls seemed a part of her, and in her whole appearance, 
from the white flower shining in her dark hair and on her 


disarmed: 


II 


bosom to the diaphanous drapery floating about her like a 
cloud, was something shadowy, spirit-like, almost ghost-like, 
if a fair breathing creature can be compared to a ghost. 

“ My dear Stephana ! I am glad to see that you have not 
quite given up this wicked world ; and we are to be neigh- 
bors.” 

Stephana sat down, holding her cousin’s hand, and fixing 
her large, brown, penetrating eyes upon her. 

“ I am glad also. Then your travels are over ? ” 

“ Yes ; I shall never travel in foreign parts any more, 
unless to Paris. In ten years I have seen every place I 
wanted to see. I intend now to settle down and amuse 
myself for the rest of my life. I am the richest woman in 
the country, and I mean to get the utmost entertainment 
possible out of my money.” 

The large mesmerizing eyes of Stephana were still fastened 
on Miss Hermitage. 

“ Such large-hearted hospitality is much needed here. 
You will do real good,” she added, gently. 

“ Now, Stephana, please do not talk to me about doing 
good. I do my charities handsomely to ease my conscience, 
and there the matter ends. I am always interested to see 
you, my dear, but the very word philanthropy drives me mad.” 

Stephana smiled away the other’s asperity, and changed 
the subject. “ Were you happy in Italy, on the Nile, in 
Dresden 'i ” she asked. 

I was amused, if that is what you mean. Valerian and 
Colette managed everything beautifully for me. I never had 
a dull moment.” 

“ And I am sure you can never be dull now. That charm- 
ing Arthura who came with your message, I fell in love with 
her at once. It is just the nature that does me good to come 
in contact with.” 

Quite useless for any one to fall in love with Arthura,” 
Miss Hermitage said, unwarrantably emphatic. “ She is 
necessary to me, and nothing in the world shall induce me 
to part with her.” 

“You are happy indeed to find Arthuras,” Stephana 
answered, resignedly. 

Miss Hermitage dropped her voice almost to a whisper. 
“ You need not be lonely. Marry again. But now let us 
confabulate no longer. I am beholden to show myself — 
you also, as one of the house.” 

The pair rose, and Miss Hermitage passing her arm within 


12 


D/SAJ?M££>:' 


that of her tall and beautiful conductress, went from one 
room to another. She had her especial reasons for looking 
after Valerian and Arthura. “ Mind,” she had whispered to 
her steward, “be civil to Arthura before our guests. She 
would be quite useless to me unless treated exactly on the 
same footing as yourself. The first person that flouts her 
shall be struck off my visiting-list.” She saw now with 
infinite satisfaction that after setting conversation agoing in 
the large salon, Valerian was making much of Arthura 
among the young people. Colette, always gay and initiative 
where music was concerned, had improvised a carpet dance. 
There was Valerian leading Arthura through the labyrinths 
of a cotillion, certainly without a smile on his face, yet cor- 
dial enough for the occasion. The dance over, he was intro- 
ducing her to a partner here, a stately chaperon there, 
Arthura smiling graciously. “ A wonderful piece of acting 1 
Who would suppose that they hated each other ? ” Miss 
Hermitage mused. She was well pleased with both as she 
continued her survey. Apparently without any effort they 
had made the evening full of pretty surprises, of which the 
impromptu ball was but one. 


CHAPTER III. 

Meantime Mr. Constantine and Stephana, finding a quiet 
corner behind the camellias and the crystal, talked easily. 
“ Welcome home, sweet Mystic ! ” said the old cavalier, 
lifting her hand to his lips. “ We have come hither, Christina 
and i, because we could find no pleasanter place to die in. 
But what brings you from Italy, from the world ? ” 

“ Say rather to the world,” Stephana said, glancing at the 
crowded rooms beyond. “ Well, who can give any reason for 
going anywhere who has no reason for going to one place 
more than another ? But one motive I had in coming here. 
It was to be near the only kinsfolk I have in the world.” 

“ Say you love me the best of the three, Stephana.” 

“ You have always been kindness itself to me,” said 
Stephana, by way of answer. 

“ I have been kind to everybody, my dear,” Mr. Con- 
stantine replied, dropping his voice. “ You are a married 
woman ; I may say anything to you. I have not shone in the 
domestic moralities, but I have never been morose. I have 
done good-natured things.” 




13 


“And now you want praise for being kind and virtuous 
too ? But, as you know, I expect more of people ; I insist 
on a soul.” 

“ Only come and see me often — cheer my solitude, dear 
Santa Teresa — and I warrant you the soul shall be found. I 
am too lonely.” 

Stephana’s eyes moistened with tenderness as she laid one 
hand on her companion’s arm. “ I will come as often as you 
pleasfe. Cousin Constantine, and bring that naive Arthura 
with me. We will amuse you.” 

“ Ah ! that is what I want — a little genuine amusement. 
I know — I feel that you can mesmerize people with those eyes 
of yours. Force Christina to give up Arthura to me. My 
cup would then overflow.” 

Just then Valerian appeared, with Arthura on his arm. The 
tete k-tete was broken. Arthura, taken possession of by Mr. 
Constantine, was delighting him with her mirthful sallies. 
Valerian dropped into a chair by Stephana’s side, and chat- 
ted after the friendly fashion of a kinsman. “ I am sure we 
have all done the very best thing in coming to this place,” he 
began. “ The sea is the only bribe for living in England, 
and we are here so near London that we can run up for an 
hour. Our cousin is enchanted with all my arrangements.” 

“ You have a genius for making life agreeable,” smiled 
Stephana. 

“ I may without flattery say that I have. But I hope, my 
lady cousin, that you find no difficulty in enjoying your own 
handsome fortune } ” asked Valerian, much as if he were in- 
quiring after her health. 

“ I certainly enjoy it as well as I have any right to 
do.” 

“ Oh, if you go to the root of the matter, you will never en- 
joy anything,” Valerian said. “ You must let me teach, you 
a little of my philosophy.” 

“ Rather of the world, worldly, I fear,” Stephana fnade reply. 

“ Can any true philosophy be otherwise "i ” laughed Valerian. 
“ We are of the world ; we must live in it — although I believe 
you do hold intercourse with finer spirits.” 

Stephana would fain have checked the playful speech, un- 
der which, she knew, lurked a certain grave meaning. 

“ Why reluct at the beautiful imputation ? ” he began. 
“ Were you not in Rome exactly a year ago } ” 

Stephana bowed her head assentingly. 

“ And were you not obliged to flee like an outlaw because 


14 


DISARMEDr 


of these gifts, spiritual, supernatural — call them what you 
will ? ” 

Stephana held her peace. 

Valerian laughed lightly. 

“A little bird whispered in my ear that you feared the en- 
viable fame thus acquired might bind you to Rome forever, 
keep you a perpetual prisoner there like the Pope. But not 
a syllable more^^ince it displeases you. Take my arm, and 
let me intro^uce you to some of our guests, one also ‘like 
yourself from Rome.” 

The last sentence was carelessly uttered and carelessly list- 
ened to ; then Valerian made way with his cornpanion toward 
the music-room. What could be going on there t Piano and 
violin were hushed; alike dance and song were over; yet 
the doorway was thronged with hungry listeners, and the air 
breathed expectation. “ Listen,” Valerian whispered. “It 
is our Roman friend, the blind improvisator. You knew him ; 
you must have heard of his wonderful story-telling ? ” 

The pair stood still, and'the narrator began. Was he using 
rhyme or prose ? His listeners hardly knew. They were 
only conscious of a marvelous voice — music itself — that held 
them spell-bound, and of a sad, sensitive face that seemed 
to see, though only inner light could now irradiate it. Talk 
not of the cheerfulness of the blind. What deep, pathetic 
pensiveness is stamped — must be stamped — on the brow of 
the sightless ! 

“Just a year ago, then,” began Valerian’s guest, “all the 
world — I mean the world of Rome — was horror-stricken by 
one of those problematic crimes, that happen once in a gener- 
ation, as if to teach us the irony of human justice. It was 
a fratricide, under circumstances so strange that whilst in 
men’s minds the real murderer was convicted past doubt, the 
evidence of the law fastened the crime upon another. Never, 
humanly Speaking, could anything be clearer than that here 
the innocent was about to suffer in the place of the guilty. 
Never was a stronger case made out by the lawyers. 

“The eldest of three rich brothers is foully murdered, and 
the deed could only have beeiji committed by one of the sur- 
vivors, both having equal pecuniary interest in the death. 
But by which ? By him of stainless reputation, austere mor- 
ality, the devout churchman and lavish almsgiver, the wearer 
of civic honors well earned ? Or by the graceless spendthrift, 
his younger brother, the hero of a thousand disreputable ad- 
ventures, the wild wooer of every pretty girl in Rome, the 


disarmed:^ ,5 

frequenter of taverns and casinos ? Now it so happened, al- 
though I can not go into details, that, putting aside such damn- 
ing testimony, circumstantial evidence pointed out the 
younger brother as the doer of the deed, whilst public opin- 
ion leaned the other way. As far, indeed, as outward cir- 
cumstances could go, the culprit was doomed before he ap- 
peared at the bar of justice, nor did anything come to light 
during the trial to shake the tremendous, the crushing con- 
clusions against him ; yet the popular judgment never 
swerved ; the elder and not the younger brother was the guilty 
man ; the reputed saint, not the sinner, here had earned the 
curse of Cain. 

“ Meantime the unhappy prisoner was condemned to die, 
and as the day of doom drew near a painful tension held 
people’s minds. No one dared openly to avow his thoughts, 
and accuse a man whom the law held unassailable, for the 
elder brother had been released after the preliminary and ex- 
trajudicial inquiry. But none acquiesced in the verdict. It 
was well known, moreover, that no confession within the 
prison had been made, a palmary proof of innocence in the 
popular estimation. Yet what could be done ? The case 
had been tried after the usual fashion. The prisoner had 
been defended by able counsel. From such a sentence there 
was no appeal. So the fatal day drew near, and on the eve 
of the execution it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle 
could avert the catastrophe of the morrow. Just fifteen hours 
of life yet remained to the victim, when something happened 
so wholly unprecedented and extraordinary that but for a 
witness here to bear out my statements I should not ask you 
to give me credence. 

“At five o’clock in the afternoon, therefore, an English 
lady, a young widow long resident in Rome, was entreated to 
give secret audience to a priest, a stranger to her, whose 
very name even she now heard for the first time. Being, how- 
ever, allied by marriage with an old Italian family, of Catholic 
persuasion of course, she readily consented, seeing nothing 
unusual in the request. It was some every-day demand on 
her sympathies and well-filled English purse, nothing more. 
The stranger proved to be no homely country priest come to 
beg a little charity. Instead she saw a polished, affable man 
of the world, whose authoritative speech and bearing bespoke 
ecclesiastical rank. ‘ I am not — I could not be mistaken,’ he 
said, perusing her with extraordinary earnestness. 'Yes, ru- 
mor and popular belief have not erred. You, if any living 


i6 


disarmed: 


creature, can rescue a guiltless head from the scaffold, the 
soul of another from everlasting perdition.’ The lady looked 
up in deep amazement. ‘There is not a moment to lose,’ he 
said, ‘ and surely there is no need for explanation. You must 
be aware of the power you possess over your fellow-beings, 
that strange influence with which some are endowed, we know, 
for some Heaven-sent purpose. No flattering ! Now is the 
moment to exercise it on behalf of two unhappy men, one bur- 
dened with disavowed crime, the other doomed to expiate it, 
although guiltless.’ 

“ The lady was silent. He had spoken the truth, and she 
dared not shrink, from the mission confided to her. Yet it 
was an awful one. No wonder that she turned cold and pale. 

“ ‘ I have a carriage at the door. Call your tire-woman at 
once, and make ready to go with me,’ said the priest. ‘ Al- 
though I believe that you are an alien from the one true 
Church, you can not refuse its mandate in such a cause. 
Two lives at stake, the one brief and uncertain, the other eter- 
nal.’ 

“ He then explained to her how the belief had got abroad 
of her occult powers ; the merest rumor at first, it had gained 
such force and consistency that nothing but an appeal to her 
would satisfy people’s minds. She and she alone could lift 
the veil from a guilty soul. In her hands the granite of the 
real culprit would become as water or a blade of grass. 

“ ‘ Of course,’ whispered the abbd, as they left the house 
together, ‘ we must be circumspect. We must resort to strat- 
agem. The unfortunate man now awaiting sentence of death 
is, in the eye of the law, the fratricide. The man you have 
to kneel to as an intercessor is presumably innocent of 
blood-guiltiness. We have secured an interview for an Eng- 
lish lady on a mission of charity ; your pretext may be to beg 
as a last favor from his brother that he will take leave of him 
in prison. The rest — ’ 

They now stopped at the great man’s door, and no living 
soul will probably ever know what passed between the pair. 
Was there some talismanic charm in the lady’s eye potent to 
subdue evil and make it obsequious to her will .? Or did she 
use wizardry of speech that we know not of, laying bare the 
black soul with the lightning flash of a word ? All is 
mystery. But when, pale as a ghost, she re-entered the 
carriage, her companion read at a glance what was past 
utterance. That evening the news had spread through Rome 
like a conflagration : the murderer had avowed his crime ; the 


disarmed: 


17 


falsely accused was* set free. But the lady whose strange 
powers — ” 

The story-teller suddenly broke down, as if thrilled and set 
a-tremble with the potency of his own words. He bent his 
head forward in a listening attitude, stretched out both hands 
as one trying to reach something. Then he said, slowly and 
wonderingly : 

“ I feel it — I know it — she is here. Her unspeakable 
errand let none ask. Where all is good, all is mysterious.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

What easier than to snap one’s fingers at laggard Tinft, 
and flout all the demons of dullness that be, when our purse 
has no bottom ? Money, certes, can not turn the loon into a 
paragon, but its miraculous powers stop there. It can draw 
out life to those who love it. It can flog the slow hours into 
a rushing pace. 

Talk not to me, then, of the immorality of squandering. 
What were we sent into the world for but to amuse ourselves 
What were others sent into the world for but to amuse .? 
Let those sophisticate who may about moral obligation and 
Christian duty. We bid them pack, and in amusing ourselves 
do good all round without any trouble. 

This was very much Miss Hermitage’s creed, had she cared 
to put it into words ; but she might have pleaded by way of 
excuse that she must make up in a few years for the dullness 
of a lifetime. She was old, and her chance of amusement 
had not come till the freshness of feeling was over. “ Better 
late than never,” she had said, when coming into fortune and 
freedom at sixty. ‘‘ I am a miser’s daughter, nathless, I am 
sure of it, some spendthrift’s heir! How the pleasure of 
spending tingles through my very veins I And I will be 
warned by my father’s example. At least if nobody mourns, 
nobody shall rejoice, when I die.” 

She was resolute, then, to spend, to make merry, and thus, 
as far as might be, compensate for the blank monotony of 
years. If repression had dwarfed her sympathies, it had 
not dulled her intellect. Above all, it had not shorn her of 
one natural endowment. She had the wit to enjoy. “ I have 
a frame of iron. If I contrive to get twenty years of satis- 
2 


i8 


DISARMED: 


faction out of my life I shall have no rea'son to grumble,” she 
mused. 

Certainly she never did grumble. A girl just awakened to 
the consciousness of beauty and its power could not exuberate 
more than Miss Hermitage over her sound, healthy, unflag- 
ging appetite for enjoyment. 

What, indeed, missed she but youth and love ? Beauties 
pleased her, but the sight of happy lovers drove her mad. 
Was it envy ? Was it regret ? She wist not ; she only in- 
dulged the feeling. If youth and love, however, are not to 
be bought for money, most other commodities come into the 
market, and Miss Hermitage could outbid her neighbors’ bows. 
Whilst the lazy world waits for its pleasure, how little does it 
divine what pleasure costs ! Miss Hermitage might have fit- 
ted out armaments, bought Peruvian cargasons, conquered a 
h?athen people, with the specie put into her steward’s hands 
for the purpose of making time fly. Valerian’s busy brain 
and many another worked night and day on the problem, al- 
though, of course, no effort must be apparent. If the perfec- 
tion of art is to conceal art, it is surely so with this crowning 
achievement, this rare piece of ingenuity, this almost super- 
human victory over mortal dullness. Valerian’s brain must 
work, and Colette’s and Arthura’s, from morning till night, 
in order to keep this complex machinery agoing. If the 
one failed of an expedient, straightway the others were 
called upon to furnish theirs. The riddle must be read by 
somebody. But as yet all there had shown themselves 
equal to the task. The day dawned, and Miss Hermitage 
woke up like some cradled princessling, sure of being dawdled 
and prattled to and showed the pretties till bed-time should 
come round again. “ It is wonderful how diverting life is,” 
she often thought ; “ I am sure I do not mind if I live to 
be a hundred.” She had not even a dim perception of the 
truth. It never struck her that this light and airy fabric of 
existence cost as much labor as the building of a Pyramid. 
What was the cost to her ? She could pay. 

So, like a feminine Al-Raschid, she had her own poets dash- 
ing off j'eux d' esprit, playwrights in her hire devising drawing- 
room comedy, prime donne exercising trills for her especial 
benefit. And there were conjurers in her pay, and sedulous 
stage milliners plying needles for her masquerades, and in 
far-off quarters of the globe fabulously lovely cats and price- 
less toy dogs were being educated, talking birds taught epi- 
grams, floral paragons made to grow, whilst, to come down 


“ disarmed: 


19 


from wonder-land to sober reality, how many pallid artificers 
sweated by gas-light, how many miners toiled like gnomes in 
the under-world, how many brown sailors put to sea, imperil- 
ing life and limb ! — and all for what ? To drive away one 
old woman’s ennui ! 

“ Really it is quite astonishing how Valerian and Arthura 
understand their business,” was Miss Hermitage’s remark, 
soon after that opening soirde. “ Time is flying so fast 1 
shall soon have to find fault with them for doing their work 
too well. I shall be a hundred in no time at this rate.” 

The secret of Valerian’s success was simple enough ; but 
has not a great poet taught us that “ Doch ist das Leichte 
schwer”? Just as a wise cook never serves up precisely the 
same dish to the company that has once pronounced it per- 
fect, so Valerian never repeated a triumph ; and if a Soyer 
or a Francatelli can ransack earth, air, and water in search of 
gastronomic emotion, how much vaster are the resources of 
the intellectual purveyor ! Never had such bills of fare been 
imagined, much less heard of, as those now placed before 
Miss Hermitage’s guests. Commonness was banished ; uni- 
formity knew not its own. The wand of ineptitude was broken, 
and sparkling novelty reigned in its place. 

Moreover, the little circle itself was a daily surprise and a 
mystery. Who were they all — this audacious, piquant Ar- 
thura? this authoritative, universal Valerian ? the dream-like, 
beautiful Stephana, of whom report whispered so strangely ? 
No one knew more of the group than that Miss Hermitage 
had lately inherited a princely fortune, and that her cousin, 
Mr. Constantine, had spent one ; that Valerian was related 
to both, though in what degree nobody could tell ; finally, 
that Stephana was really cousin twice removed of the first 
two, and widow, after two months’ wedlock, of a titled for- 
eigner. Curiosity was most alert concerning Stephana — a hu- 
man variety in this nineteenth-century sea-side resort, or in any 
other. A seer, now folks called her, and now one of the Il- 
luminati. “ A spirit, and a woman too,” she was, without 
doubt, but the spirit predominated over the woman, and that 
was not of the earth, earthy. Marvelous gifts were hers, 
they said — unwonted influence for good over her fellows, su- 
perhuman insight into things unseen, mysterious kinship with 
those ineffable souls that have revealed hidden truth to men. 

Let it not be for a moment supposed that even the vulgar- 
minded categorized Stephana among those self-called inter- 


20 


disarmed: 


preters of the unseen world by common means and for the 
gratification of abject curiosity. From such charlatanry she 
held aloof, moving serenely in a light all the more dazzling 
to others because they knew not whence it came. 

Miss Hermitage made light of her kinswoman’s reputation, 
except as a factor in the sum total of amusement. Stepliana 
excited conjecture, she diverted, she was therefore “worth 
any money ” to one who valued nothing but diversion, and 
measured all things by one rate of exchange. “Of course 
Stephana will cost me something, will get charity out of me,” 
mused Miss Hermitage ; “ all diversions do. But what else 
is money good for ? ” 

When Arthura playfully called her patroness by the famil- 
iar name of Gossip, she was but using her veritable patro- 
nymic. All four, indeed — Miss Hermitage, Stephana before 
her marriage, Mr. Constantine, and Valerian — styled them- 
selves Gossip-Hermitage, the last name having been ap- 
pended on the death of a kinswoman whose fortune had gone 
to the Gossip family, and with it her cognomen. Mr. Con- 
stantine, however, partly because he was one of several 
brothers, and partly because the name (like Steppie Sad- 
grove’s) seemed to cling to him of its own accord, the son of 
a diplomate, and born at Constantinople, was becomingly 
called after the city and its founder ; his early youth, too, had 
been spent in the East, and he ever kept up connection with 
a country of which he was inordinately fond. 

Mr. Constantine was cousin-german to Christina and Ste- 
phana’s father ; and Stephana herself having three years be- 
fore exchanged her two English names for an Italian one, her 
real style and title was Countess Cardonna ; but when at the 
end of six unhappy months she was left a widow, she dis- 
claimed what seemed to her affectation, and insisted on be- 
ing called plain Mrs. Cardonna. English by birth, English 
at heart, determined to spend her life in England, why should 
she affect an empty title of nobility ? Mr. Constantine had 
long ago spent the best part of a handsome fortune in philan- 
thropy, but his cousin and second cousin were rich. What 
would they do with their money ? This problem interested 
the old man not a little. He had indeed followed them to 
the South in order to solve it. Next to the pleasure of spend- 
ing your own fortune, thought Mr. Constantine, is that of 
watching another spend his, just as a whist-player watches a 
game in which he takes no part. 


d/sanmed: 


21 


CHAPTER V. 

A PICNIC under greenwood shade is a stale contrivance, but 
surely Valerian was the first to entertain his friends in Nat- 
ure’s own garden white with hoar-frost. But let no one shiver 
at the notion. What knows opulence of zone and zone ? 
The rich can carry the climate they like best with them wher- 
ever they go, and Miss Hermitage and her friends, in well- 
warmed carriages, furred and feathered up to the chin, could 
afford to call January delicious. How effeminate to stay in- 
doors huddled over a fire, when you can be every whit as 
warm out-of-doors, and exhilarated and amused to boot ? So 
“ It is the greatest possible mistake to make a fuss about Eng- 
lish winters,” Miss Hermitage said. “ Could any one be 
warmer than we are ” 

That she might well say as the well-appointed carriage sped 
along the shore, between glittering white town and azure sea, 
to-day hardly rippling into a wave. The little bay was flood- 
ed with sunshine. It caught the tawny sail of the fishing-boat 
far away, burnishing the sheer till it seemed made of gold. 
It warmed the smacks of the sea-faring men busy with their 
nets into hues of battered copper. A mosaic could hardly be 
more brilliant or purer in tone than this picture. Yet when the 
carriage climbed an inland road winding high above the sea 
it was surpassed by a scene phenomenal even in our fair 
Southern England. Not a breeze was stirring, and the mists 
of two days had cleared away, revealing Nature’s handicraft, 
kept secret till all was ready. And what had the enchantress 
wrought so cunningly ? Not the solemn array of snow, that 
is death-like and eerie, but the witchery of the hoar-frost, be- 
longing to life and joy. In the dimness of dawn and haze 
every object is veiled in mystery ; a glorious burst of sunshine 
reveals such enchantment as we only see once or twice in a 
lifetime. The whole natural world is arrayed in white sa- 
mite and diamonds — a winter bride ready for espousals. 

In the woodlands the statelier branches are weighed down 
with their glittering burden, but the tiniest spray best shows 
the magic, not a blade, not a panicle, without its tassels and 
fringes of crystal, its sparkles of jeweled light. Then the 
blue clear-swept sky above, and the blue pure sea beyond. 
It is as if we were suddenly lifted into some beautiful moony 
world free from gross elements. All is cold, ethereal, crys- 
tallme. The carriage had flanked the bay, and now stopped 


22 


disarmed: 


at the head of a small winding combe, through which a foot- 
path led to shelving rocks overlooking the shore. In sum- 
mer-time there is beauty enough and to spare here, and then 
not a mossy dell or ferny covert without the prattle of happy 
lovers. To-day, instead of greenery and wild flowers, all was 
pure, silvery, silent splendor, the dazzling flowerets of the frost 
making labyrinths everywhere, here and there letting in a 
peep of the deep winter sea. 

Valerian gave Miss Hermitage his arm. 

“ It is very clever of you to find out such beautiful things,” 
she said, delightedly ; “ and to manage even the weather. No 
muddy roads, no snow-storms. Surprise upon surprise. But 
what are you going to do with these good people } ” 

Valerian smiled rebuke as there emerged from the dry crisp 
alleys of shining white one guest after another : a bevy of 
pretty girls for grace, their vermilion-colored petticoats and 
crimson feathers brightening the scene, and half a dozen for 
wit, Stephana and the blind story-teller among these. 

A bend of the path, and Valerian’s little scheme revealed 
itself. Midway between the sea and the opening of the val- 
ley was a small restaurant, much resorted to in summer, but 
shut up in winter — to-day, however, alive with merry voices. 
A bright fire blazed on the hearth, curtains had been hung up, 
rugs laid down ; the place was a picture of rustic elegance and 
comfort, whilst in the middle of the room stood a flower-decked 
table ready prepared for a savory feast. “ How charming ! ” 
cried Miss Hermitage. “Well, really, I wonder. Valerian, 
what you will think of next ? You are, indeed, worth any 
money.” 

Never was a more appetizing and animated little banquet. 
But the marvelous entourage would have moved even a dull 
company. It was like feasting in a palace of frosted silver un- 
der a sapphire dome. What a sight to be seen or missed ! Yet 
the blind story-teller seemed somehow conscious of the beauty 
around him. The enthusiasm of the others was as a revela- 
tion to his inner eye, and when the light part of the banquet 
had come, he rose, leaned against the wall, and put every- 
thing into a fairy tale — the little lodge under the spangled 
glittering branches, the sea below, blue as malachite, flecked 
with many a white pinnace, the sea-birds flashing overhead. 
After the story the party dispersed to see the views, Arthura 
and Colette staying behind to pack up plate and crystal. 

In the midst of this business Valerian came up. “I have 
to hurry you away,” he said to Colette. “ My cousin and 


DISARMED.'' 


23 


Stephana wish to return alone, but a seat is kept for you in 
the carriage. As for us two,” he added, glancing at Arthura 
with mischief in his eyes, “ we must get home on foot as best 
we can.” 

Arthura looked dark, but said nothing. 

“The walk is charming. We shall quite enjoy ourselves,” 
he went on, ironically. 

“Oh,” put in the little Frenchwoman, “I am sure you 
don’t mind — do you, Arthura ? You will be friends with Mr. 
Valerian, won’t you ? ” 

“ Arthura is not bound to be my friend, but can not refuse 
my company,” Valerian replied, still malicious. “I will send 
Brown for the baskets, and then fetch you,” he added, smil- 
ing at the discomfited girl. Then giving the little French- 
woman his arm, he set off for the carriage. 

When, however, he came back, a few minutes later, a cer- 
tain plumed hat and fur cloak he knew well no longer hung 
on the peg. Arthura had flown. It was evident that she 
would not have his escort at any price. 

From the valley several ways led into the town. Which 
would Arthura take He pondered for a. minute, then re- 
flecting that she most probably knew but one, set off in pur- 
suit, keeping the high-road. And true enough he did over- 
take the sulky recalcitrant. Mademoiselle Colette, catching 
sight of the pair, sighed to herself. 

“ Always at daggers drawn ! I do wish they would learn 
to tolerate each other ! ’’ she mused. “ But it is all Chris- 
tina’s fault.” 

Meantime Stephana, finding Miss Hermitage in the best 
possible humOr, was skillfully leading up to the theme upper- 
most in her mind. 

“ I have been thinking a good deal about Valerian since 
my return to England,” she began. “ How admirable he is 
in many respects ! So prompt, practical, and good-na- 
tured.” 

“ All that he is, and much more. In fact, he is quite in- 
dispensable to me,” Miss Hermitage replied. “But why 
should you think about him .? ” 

“ Because he is a relation, and yet no relation. I feel 
that you and Constantine and myself are bound to make up 
to him for the wrong — shall we say — that society has done 
him.” 

“ He has everything his heart can desire. Why should 
you two do anything for Valerian ? ” 


24 


“ disarmed: 


“That is hardly a position,” Stephana said, gently, “and 
a man should have that. Some kind of career, a future.” 

“He knows. well enough that if he makes himself useful 
to me as long as I live, he will be pensioned. I never in- 
tend to enrich any one. But Valerian shall never want.” 

Stephana looked unconvinced. “ He is of our blood ; the 
last, maybe. He should marry. He should found a family.” 

Miss Hermitage laughed a little dry sarcastic laugh. “To 
listen to you one might suppose poor Valerian to be the son 
and heir of a lord. A nobody he is, a nobody he must re- 
main. Unless ” — here she laughed again — “ unless you 
marry him yourself.” 

“Valerian is on my conscience, and I would make sacri- 
fices to help him,” Stephana said, with great seriousness, and 
taking no account of the last part of the sentence. 

“Why should Valerian be on your conscience?” 

“ Is he not on yours, then, and on my cousin Constan- 
tine’s ? ” Stephana asked, still very earnest. “ A kinsman 
who should bear our name, yet has none. The sin of our 
blood is here.” 

“ Well, you and I and Constantine, I am sure, are doing 
all that we can for Valerian ; and the world does not concern 
itself with by-gones. He is better off than most people, after 
all that may be said,” Miss Hermitage answered, comforta- 
bly. 

For some time Stephana was silent. At last she said, in 
the same tone of subdued painful thought, “Christina, do 
you think Constantine could tell me Valerian’s history from 
the beginning ? ” 

“ There could be no harm in asking him,” was the curt re- 
ply. Then Miss Hermitage suddenly became good-natured 
and alert, and she changed the subject. “ Mind and come 
to our dance, Stephana. Valerian and Arthura are getting 
up minuets and rigadoons to be danced in costume. It will 
be as good as a play,” 


CHAPTER VI. 

The like of Valerian and his rigadoons had never been 
seen in those parts, and although in his latest achievement 
he was always said to have surpassed himself, here praise 
stopped short for want of a word. 

What so like one fashionable masquerade as another? 


“ DJSARMEDr 


^5 


But when at a signal from the master of the ceremonies the 
band sounded, and Mr. Constantine led Miss Hermitage, 
both in the costume of Queen Anne’s time, through the 
rhythmical paces of a minuet, drawing-room etiquette was for 
once set at naught, and ringing applause filled the place. 
Youth and beauty felt themselves eclipsed. All eyes were 
fixed on the antique exquisite pair treading their measures 
so exactly, yet with such stateliness and dainty grace. Ex- 
quisite they both certainly were, and not only as far as dress 
was concerned. If Miss Hermitage wanted Mr. Constan- 
tine’s perfect features and ivory complexion, there was still a 
likeness between them. The faultless build, the small stat- 
ure, the correct carriage, were hers also, and Arthura had 
done the business of dressing so beautifully that there was no 
outward inferiority. As a picture Miss Hermitage could 
bear comparison with her cousin, but as a picture only. The 
sumptuous little old lady in hoop and brocade nicely matched 
her no less superb cavalier. The fire animating Mr. Con- 
stantine’s physiognomy lacked in Miss Hermitage’s. Two 
vessels were here fashioned after one mold, but from differ- 
ent materials, and whilst through the alabaster the pure flame 
burned bright, feebly by comparison glimmered the wick 
'through the clay. It was, above all, the little performance 
that captivated the lookers-on. Handsome old ladies and 
gentlemen in antiquated costumes may be seen any day, but 
to see them do anything precisely as it would have been done 
in the days of our great-grandfathers is wholly another mat- 
ter. Mr. Constantine had been one of the most finished 
dancers of his time. Miss Hermitage had never been taught 
any other accomplishment but the dance, and could go 
through her steps and courtesies to perfection. The pair, 
bowing and courtesying to each other when the minuet was 
over, afforded a piquant spectacle. For the life of them peo- 
ple could not help clapping their hands and shouting. 

“ Our last appearance in the world, most likely,” said Mr. 
Constantine, as he led his companion to a chair. “ The next 
new clothes we have to buy may be much simpler.” 

“ Speak for yourself, if you please,” retorted Miss Hermit- 
age. “ Though, if you had leB me a legacy, and I wanted it, 
I should have to poison you. You look wiriness itself.” 

“ Don’t you really feel ghost-like sometimes ? — as if you be- 
longed to a world of shadows ? ” asked the other, playfully. 

“ Now, Constantine, if you make yourself disagreeable, you 
shall come to no more of my parties.” 


26 disarmed:' 

“My dear Christina, how many more do you expect to 
give ? ” • 

“You are older than I am, ten years at least,” Miss Her- 
mitage made tart reply. 

“Well, let us not quarrel. I am longing for a glass of 
your well remembered Madeira. Will you bear me company 
to the buffet ? ” 

“ No ; I am well pleased to sit still ; you must go by your- 
self,” was the reply ; whereupon Mr. Constantine made a 
stately reverence and left her. 

“ How unpleasant Constantine is at times ! ” thought Miss 
Hermitage. “ Like Stephana, always harping on disagreeable 
topics. I do believe life might be perfect without relatives.^ 
Yet Constantine and Stephana can be vastly entertaining 
when they choose. I could not do without them.” 

As she spoke her eye rested on the beautiful figure of Ste- 
phana, at that moment the cynosure of many eyes. She was 
sitting beside the blind story-teller, and, utterly unconscious 
of general admiration, was describing one gorgeous figure 
after another, as the dancers flashed by in dresses of the olden 
time. Now, strange although it may appear, the effect of 
Stephana’s description on her blind companion soon became 
a much more vivid impression to the by-standers than the 
spectacle itself. The outward, visible pageant before them, 
so alert with life and movement, so aglow with color and 
richness, lost somewhat of its charm and reality, and all were 
bent upon the realization of the scene through the delicate 
poetic medium of a blind man’s perceptions. Perhaps, in- 
deed, none of us see things so vividly as those who behold 
them by the aid of memory or imagination only. Stephana 
but described the hues and lusters we may look on every day. 
Her listener saw with the inner eye something maybe of the 
splendor that irradiated the blind prophet of Patmos. And 
just as the crimsons, the purples, the gold and gems, now 
pasing before him became a thousandfold more dazzling, 
thus exaggerated by a blind man’s fancy, so the little crowd 
of listeners saw what their own eyes could never have revealed 
to them. Lukewarm appreciation was changed to deep 
aesthetic insight. 

“ I see it all,” said the story-teller, breathing a sigh of en- 
joyment as the dance ended. “And now, dear lady, tell me 
what your own dress is like. Yet stay — I can divine. These 
sumptuous peacock splendors are not for you : only white, 
and not the white of snows and sea-foam ; something pearly 


disarmed: 


27 


and pensive ; and for jewels only pearls, or perhaps the mel- 
ancholy opal. No flashes, no scintillations. Only your eyes, 
deep, dark, unutterable, to make a glory of the picture.” 

“ You shall fancy what you please,” said Stephana, smil- 
ing. “Now tell me what brought you from your beloved 
Italy?” 

“Ah,” he replied, “my answer is easy enough. But your 
own to the same question, which I have been tempted to put 
a dozen times ? You had a mission in Italy. Sin and mys- 
tery claimed you.” 

“ Are not sin and mystery everywhere ? ” asked Stephana. 

“ Hardly here,” he made reply. “ It seems to me that you 
have planted yourself in just the kind of world to make us 
forget their very existence. Since I came to this place I 
have breathed an air of perpetual light-hearted enjoyment. 
No need, surely, for a revealer of dark secrets, an apocalypse 
of doom and retribution, here.” 

Stephana smiled away the grave question. “ But misery 
at least is to be found in every corner of the earth. You 
may perhaps hear of me as an evangelist among the flsher- 
folk ? If I undertake to preach sermons for the good of my 
fellows, will you tell stories ? ” 

“ You have anticipated my reply to your first question,” he 
Said, quite seriously. “ What else, indeed, can a blind man 
do ? And why should not story-telling be a medium of spirit- 
ual instruction as well as the printer’s block? Now I do not 
know if it has ever struck you, but it has long weighed upon 
my own mind, and painfully and imperiously — a conviction 
that must sooner or later take the shape of deed — how few, 
comparatively speaking, of even civilized human beings, re- 
alize the music there may be in the human voice. Most folks, 
at least English-speaking folks, hear once in their lives the 
music of the sea. Some sort of musical harmony, too, is 
brought to the door of the meanest. But the subtle spell 
that lies in a rare human voice, how seldom is that exercised 
on the souls of the masses ! ” 

“And such a gift is indeed yours,” answered Stephana, 
eagerly. “ Not the gift alone ; you have the spell to use it.” 

“So I believe,” answered her companion, in a tone of deep 
humility. “ A blind man, above all others, has constant 
need of fellowship and sympathy. In darkness none can live 
alone. I have put the question to myself. Might not story- 
telling become not only a medium of social intercourse, but 
absolutely a career, an avocation ? Outside the pulpit, out- 


28 


“ disarmed: 


side the tribune, what a field lies open for him who would 
move the souls of men by the magic of fastidious, impassioned, 
flawless speech ! For the most part, to what dull, gross uses 
is put the human voice ! Listen on the threshold of a tavern, 
a cottage parlor, any place in which average humanity is con- 
gregated together. The language is mean enough, but the 
manner is more deplorable still. Never once will you hear an 
exquisite word.” 

“ A beautiful ambition ! ” replied Stephana. “ And of course 
your stories will point a moral ? ” 

“ Was ever any story written by reasonable man or woman 
without a moral? Therefore, dearest lady, you will picture 
me and hear of me as a wanderer stopping wherever he can 
get a dozen folks to listen to him, or even one ; for I shall 
not only accept invitations to frolicsome places, but to hos- 
pices, deathly silent but for the groan of pain, and to lonely 
chambers of poor sick men. Think of what a story may do 
for one blank day! Nor will sin fright me. Shall I not be 
as safe in the dens of vice as yourself ? for 1 have heard of a 
certain angel that troubles the waters — ” He broke off with 
a rapturous expression, and added, still using Italian, and 
speaking in under-tones : “ Ah ! If I might but be as that 
angePs attendant shadow! — ministrant I dare not say : to 
whom can a blind man minister ? But if we could only go 
through the world hand in hand, you to speak to men’s con- 
sciences, I to their hearts, what happiness would life still 
have in store for me ! ” And lower and lower still he dropped 
his voice : • “ Did you not know it ? I could not stay behind. 
Italy was not Italy without you.” 

Before Stephana had time to reply, if indeed she intended 
to make any. Valerian came up petitioning for a story. Noth- 
ing else would now satisfy Miss Hermitage and her guests. 

So, leaning against the mantel-piece, his tall, attenuated fig- 
ure wearing almost a look of shadowy un substantiality, his 
pale rapt face riveted as it seemed on some spot from whence 
light should come, he looked as strange and out of place 
among these careless masqueraders as Stephana herself. It 
was, indeed, perhaps the contemplation of the narrator as 
much as the wild weird story he now told with such quiet in- 
sinuating eloquence that struck the fancy of his listeners. 

When he ended there was a ringing shout of applause. 
Miss Hermitage went straight to her guest with bluntest 
thanks, 

“ I am much obliged to you, Mr. Marksham. Really what 


disarmed:' 


29 


a pity it is you are not some poor under-graduate in search of 
a livelihood ! I would give you handsome wages, and you 
should tell me a story every day of my life.” 


CHAPTER VIL 

*^Ah, Arthura,” said Miss Hermitage, when the flushed, 
triumphant girl came to her patroness’s unrobing, ‘‘what 
should I do without you ? Your comments on these evenings 
is the best part of them.” 

“ Are they really? ” Arthura asked. Then, as she took off 
one ornament after another from the gold brocade, she said, 
“ Who got the most admiration to-night, you or I ? ” 

Miss Hermitage laughed grimly. “ What a question to ask ! 
People admire you, my dear, because you are young and hand- 
some, and me because I am a rich old woman they can get 
something out of.” 

“ But it is all admiration, and foolish compliments may as 
well be paid to one’s pocket as one’s self. What difference 
can it make ? ” laughed Arthura, gayly. 

You are in extravagant ?vpirits to-night. I am sure you 
have been quarreling with Valerian. You may try to crush 
him. You never will,” Miss Hermitage said. “ But quarrel 
as much as you please, so long as you do it amusingly.” 

“ I do not want to crush any one,” Arthura n;plied, “ But 
if any one, why not Mr. Valerian ? ” 

“ Because he is a man and you are a woman. That is why.” 

Arthura laughed in merry scorn. 

“ If Mr. Valerian were not a man I could like him well 
enough.” 

“Well, we can not transform him into a parrot, like Judas. 
So you must put up with him as he is.” 

“Do tell me, my Gossip,” said Arthura, “can you remem- 
ber how you felt when you first fell in love ! ” 

“ What next. Miss Malapert ? I wonder why it is that your 
impertinence never displeases me ? ” 

“ Is not impertinence common-sense, and common-sense 
Christian feeling ? ” asked the undaunted Arthura. “ Why 
should I not treat you like a human being, just because you 
are rich and I am poor ? I am sure, were you in my place, 
you would ask such a question.” 

“ Why, you are not falling in love, are you ? ” asked Miss 


30 


disarmed: 


Hermitage, glancing at the sparkling, animated apparition 
before her. “ Be warned, Arthura. Falling in love would 
be ruin to your prospects.” 

Arthura but grew more and more gaysome. She actually 
stooped down and kissed the tip of Miss Hermitage’s nose. 
Never before had she ventured on such a caress, but it was 
not taken amiss. 

“ Why should you throw yourself away on a curate, when 
I give you the pay of three ? No, my dear, stay with me, and 
amuse me,” Miss Hermitage said. 

“ But I can do that and fall in love too.” 

Then she threw herself playfully on her knees before her 
$ patroness, and asked in a tone of entreaty : 

“ A favor, a favor, or I stay here all night. May I go home 
to-morrow to get a peep at my darlings } ” 

“ If Valerian makes no objection, certainly. What is the 
programme t ” 

“ Expectation is the better half of enjoyment, as the spider 
said before swallowing the fly. Wait and see, dear mistress. 
But I am not wanted.” 

“ I can hardly believe that. Still, if Valerian raises no ob- 
jection, go and see your step-mother and the children by all 
means. But home early, remember.” 

“May I settle it all with Mr. Valerian asked the 
girl. 

“Yes, settle it with Valerian,” Miss Hermitage made an- 
swer. “ Though what pleasure you can see in going to Lon- 
don for an hour or two this cold weather I can not conceive. 
But now tell me amusing things. What did people say and 
do worth repeating to-night ? ” 

“ If it were only possible to be as clever as some people 
are stupid ! But I won’t be ill-natured, except to the curates. 
And Mr. Barham — well, can you imagine what Mr. Barham 
said? ” 

But her listener had dozed off, and Arthura glided away, 
the tire-woman replacing her. Still radiant and wide-awake, 
she went dqwn-stairs to look for Valerian. He had just 
lighted Mademoiselle Colette’s candle, and the pair were 
bidding each other good-night when she entered the dining- 
room, bringing so much freshness and beauty with her that 
they could but look up admiringly. Yes, this dark-haired, dark- 
eyed Arthura, with her rich complexion and easily acquired 
sumptuousness of dress, was a picture worth looking at just 
then. She might indeed wear anything, and be in any mood. 


DISARMED. 


31 


But the dash of wild spirits no less than the gown, red as a 
cardinal’s mantle, became her mightily. 

She went straight up to Valerian, and dropping a courtesy, 
asked, with the prettiest house-maid’s simper in the world, 

“ Please, sir, may I have a day out to-morrow ” 

“ What have you done to deserve it ? ” he asked, looking 
in the best possible humor also. 

“You can spare me,” she said, now herself again ; “ I am 
not wanted to-morrow. Do, Mr. Valerian, for once be amia- 
ble to me.” 

“ Oh, be friends,” interposed Colette. “ I am sure you 
might like each other if you only tried. Do begin this very 
day. Let her go home, Mr. Valerian, and she will show^ her 
gratitude by being friendly to you ever after.” 

“ I make no conditions,” frowned Arthura. “ The day’s 
holiday is in the bond.” 

“ Not any especial day,” said Valerian, teasingly. 

“ I will have to-morrow or none,” was the vindictive 
reply. 

“ Oh, dear Arthura — oh, Mr. Valerian — do not begin quar- 
relling ! You were quite pleasant to each other this evening. 
I watched you.” 

“ We must be civil before the world. — No, Arthura, it is 
inconvenient to me to spare you to-morrow. Ask me some 
other time.” 

“ Never again,” Arthura said, as she took up her candle 
sulkily and made for the door. 

“ Dear Mr. Valerian,” put in Colette, “ she looks terribly 
disappointed. Why not say yes ? Stay, Arthura ; I am sure 
he will say yes.” 

But Arthura vanished quickly as she had come. 

“Let me go to her with the permission. She is young. 
She clings to her step brothers and sisters. Remember that 
this is not her home,” pleaded the little Frenchwoman. 

“ Of course she can go,” Valerian answered, with perfect 
good nature. “ But it does me good to see that girl in a pas- 
sion. She is really very handsome.” 

“ One would think women were only made to be looked at 
from the way men talk of beauty. She has a heart of gold ; 
that is really something worth mentioning. But good-night, 
Mr. Valerian. I will do anything that in me lies to fill her 
place to-morrow. I must now let the poor child have the 
happy news to sleep upon.” 

“Good-night, Mademoiselle Colette. Tell Arthura, no 


32 


disarmed: 


more holidays for her unless she comes back in a tractable 
spirit. Henceforth all favors to depend on good behavior.” 

“ Indeed I shall say no such thing. I will not aid and 
abet you in spoiling a generous temper. The sin be on your 
own head.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Arthura lived in two worlds, divided only by an hour and 
a half of railway, yet unlike each other as remote antipodes. 
The place she greeted so rapturously next day was wholly 
sad and unlovely. Instead of tossing waves and exhilarating 
breezes, a white town glittering along the sea-marge, and 
resting on hills verdurous even in November, she saw a pict- 
ure as sordid as may be. It was certainly not London in 
tatters, but London out at elbows — London shorn of its sable 
pomp, and shivering in the thin garments of poor gentility. 
This townling within a town was one of those numerous sub- 
urban colonies of poor people ashamed to be held poor. 
One street of ill-built little houses was precisely like its fellow. 
There were precocious little serving-maids cleaning windows, 
gardens in front narrow as hearth-rugs, clothes that would 
never dry hanging out at the back, and nothing in one win- 
dow that you did not see in the next. Yet a fire blazed on 
every hearth, the cheap red curtains had a warm look, on 
every sill was a flower or bird-cage for grace. As Arthura 
tripped along the narrow street her step became buoyant, her 
cheek glowed with happy expectation as her heart leaped. 
She breathed the air of home. 

“ Arthura ! my own Arthura ! ” cried a young voice from 
within. Straightway the door flew open, and a delicate-look- 
ing boy of eleven was almost throttling her with embraces, a 
girl two years younger was clutching her gown, the young 
mother followed, leading a third, and all was joyous commo- 
tion. “ You should have written, Arthura,” began her young 
step-mother, affectionately, but with a tone of melancholy re-^ 
proach. “ We have nothing fit to give you for dinner.” 

“ My dear little Steppie ” — her pet name for a step-mother 
little older than herself— “ you must not bewail the dinner, 
but be merry. I could not tell you, because I did not know. 
I am to have a day’s holiday once a month. Only think of 
that ! ” Then she kissed the little company over and over 


DISARMED. 


33 


again — Steppie, the boy Walter, Benjamine, and her three- 
year-old sister. “ My own, own Arthura,” cried Walter, 
clinging to her, gazing up into her face as if his very life 
were there. “ Kiss me a thousand times, my Arthura.” 

Whilst Steppie very carefully and admiringly disrobed Ar- 
thura, putting away plumed hat, rich fur cloak, and silver- 
handled umbrella, little Benj amine’s face presented an inter- 
esting study. 

First with large eyes, pale blue as milk and water, she in- 
spected the muff. Finding it absolutely and hopelessly 
empty, she sniffed gently round the cloak, lifting up the lap- 
pets, peering slyly into the pockets. Like the muff, they 
held nothing. Benjamine next glanced at the umbrella. 
No little parcel was fastened to it. She at last sadly and 
resignedly sat down by Arthura’s side. “What beautiful 
things you wear now ! ” she said. 

“ It is my livery,” Arthura answered, merrily. “ Miss 
Hermitage’s servants all wear livery — the men powdered wigs 
and artificial legs covered with silk stockings, the women furs 
and feathers.” 

“ Arthura,” Steppie cried, ready to shed tears of mortifica- 
tion, “how can you talk in that way to the poor children ? ” 

“ Would you have them believe that I like wearing a hun- 
dred pounds’ worth of clothes whilst they are fitted out at 
the slop-shop ? ” Arthura asked, with almost brutal frank- 
ness. 

“ That reminds me,” Steppie began — “ I am very sorry. I 
always have something disagreeable to say when you come 
home. The children must have new shoes. I could not 
take them to church last Sunday because they were so badly 
shod.” 

Arthura took out her purse, and with unruffled spirits emp- 
tied its contents on the table. There were several pieces of 
gold, a number of shillings, and one sixpence. She picked 
up nothing but her railway ticket, and pushed the money to- 
ward her step-mother. “ There, dear little mamma, I wish I 
had more to give you.” 

Benjamine crept up to her mother’s side. 

“ May I have the sixpence for the doll you promised me ? ” 
she said. 

“Yes,” cried Arthura, overhearing the question. “And 
give Walter something, and Baby too. I was too delighted 
at the prospect of seeing you all to think of presents,” 

“ I hope you are happy ? ” asked Steppie. 

3 


34 


disarmed: 


“ As happy as I can be away from you. My notion of 
perfect happiness is to have nothing to do all day but lie here 
on the sofa with the children jumping over me, and little mam- 
ma feeding me with a spoon.” 

The children laughed immoderately. 

“ How amusing you always are ! ” sighed Steppie. “ ’Tis 
but a dull companion I am to the poor children. I could 
cry sometimes to think how dull I am.” 

“ That is an odd way of trying to be livelier,” laughed Ar- 
thura. “ You should read some funny story that makes you 
laugh till the tears run down.” 

“ Tell us such a story. Make mamma’s tears run down,” 
said Walter. 

“ No ; when we have had dinner we will do something bet- 
ter than have stories. Wait and see,” replied Arthura, look- 
ing mysterious. 

It was soon one of the clock — dinner-time — and the little 
maid-of-all-work having laid the cloth, the party sat down. 

“ A wretched dinner for you,” moaned Steppie. “ Now 
had you come the day before yesterday, you would have 
dined off a hot joint.” 

The dinner was no worse than it generally is in households 
where means are straitened and gentility at a premium. But 
the savor of home was there. Arthura, with Walter by his 
side and the rest of her little family in sight, could have 
swallowed anything short of ogre’s fare. 

Grace said, and the cloth taken away, she sprang up joy- 
fully. “ Little mamma shall play to us, and we will dance,” 
she said — “ dance madly till w'e hear the muffin bell.” 

“ Dancing and muffins ! Each word conveyed to the 
children’s minds the very apex of enjoyment. They knew 
not which to enjoy most — the delectation of the moment or 
the thought of the pleasure to come. Steppie, proud and 
happy to have her one accomplishment called into requisi- 
tion, sat down to the piano. Arthura danced now with Wal- 
ter, now with demure Benj amine, now with one-syllabled 
Baby. It was wonderful how much contentment Baby man- 
aged to express with her monosyllables. All were in frolic- 
some mood. Even Steppie declared that she was enjoying 
herself. 

“At least, not enjoying myself: I can not say that I ever 
do that. But I am enjoying you, I suppose, Arthura.” 

The minutes flew by desperately. There was the muffin 
bell. 


disarmed: 


35 


But although the muffin bell heralded tea, and tea Arthura’s 
departure, all kept up their spirits till the last moment. How 
could they help it ? First of all, Arthura, all tears, sighs, 
and depression, acted the woe-begone figure she should make 
entering Miss, Hermitage’s drawing-room. Then with inimi- 
table mimicry she showed how, in the midst of her despond- 
ency, Miss Hermitage’s pet parrot would shout, “ Fetch the 
doctor ! ” changing her tears to laughter. Lastly, standing 
on the hearth-rug, she acted alternately the part of Colette 
vinaigrette in hand, offering consolation, and of herself ut- 
terly inconsolable, yet laughing between her sobs. 

This comic scene sent the children into ecstasies, but no 
time for encores ! only just enough to hurry on hats and cloaks 
and catch the train. Arthura did, however, find a moment 
before they set out to put her arms round her step-mother’s 
neck and whisper, 

“ Of course, Steppie, as soon as papa’s debts are paid, you 
shall be made much more comfortable.” 

Then they all started, prattling cheerfully as they made 
their way through the fog. 

“Tell me,” Steppie said, as the train came up. “Nobody 
is unkind ? Ypu are not snubbed and flouted ? ” 

Arthura laughed merrily. 

“ You have never been to court, little mamma. Everybody 
is good to the court fool, the zany. I am as the apple of 
Miss Hermitage’s eye.” 

Before Steppie had time to remonstrate, the train was off. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Valerian could gild refined gold and paint the lily in mat- 
ters of enjoyment, but how to plant Miss Hermitage’s bower 
with moly and amaranth, and shut out breaths from the cold 
dark under-world of Shades ? 

Do what he might, mortal reminders would come in the 
likeness of such winter ailments as flesh is heir to : the cough 
and catarrh inseparable from age as expectant next of kin. 
Through the very key-holes these warning whispers continued 
to make insinuating way, and curtains downier than starlings’ 
nests failed to keep them out. 

“ I suppose, if Valerian can not keep me well in England, 
we must betake ourselves to the Riviera next winter,” she 


3 ^ 


disarmed: 


said to Mr. Constantine. “But I find England quite as 
amusing, and to folks of our generation it seems more natural 
to live in one’s own country ‘ in spite of the climate.’ ” 

“ I do not think the climate of a certain other countr}^ we 
are fast bound for will trouble us much. Whether you will 
find it amusing or no, my poor Christina, I can not say.” 

“ I am sure I do not ask you to say. You are welcome to 
think what you please, and to keep your thoughts a secret,” 
retorted Miss Hermitage. “I sincerely hope, Constantine, 
when I am as old as you are, I shall be less disagreeable.” 

“ Come, cousin, we won’t quarrel. Tottering on the verge 
of the grave as we both are, we ought to love each other like 
turtle-doves. Still, I make use of the privilege of kinship to 
urge on you — ” 

“ An odious privilege, too. Am I in my dotage } Can not 
I do as I will with my own } I know what you are driving 
at. What can it concern you how I dispose of my money ? ” 

“Tush, tush, my dear Christina! You can not be angry 
with your old cousin. I can have none but disinterested 
motives in persuading you to make your will. It is your duty 
as a citizen.” 

“ Well, have you made yours ? ” asked Miss Hermitage, 
brusquely. 

“ XJpoh my honor I have. But as I have nothing to leave, 
wh^t does it matter ? ” 

“ Nothing to leave ? What an old spendthrift ! And your 
money has been squaindered on no good objects — that I feel 
certain of,” retorted Miss Hermitage. 

Mr. Constantine looked more insinuating than ever. 

“ My dear Christina, you are not a child. You know some- 
thing of the world and its ways. I may, then, blush for my 
follies in your presence. But it is not the model husbands 
and fathers that make the world better, remember. It is the 
good citizen, the man of public spirit. I have at least been 
a squanderer in good causes also.” 

“ Well, is my squandering in bad causes ? ” asked Miss 
Hermitage. “ I employ plenty of people. I encourage 
trade.” 

“ Women were not taught political economy when you 
learned Shakspeare and the musical glasses,” answered the 
other, with perfect good nature. “ But you have the right to 
enjoy your money. The only point I feel it a duty, as your 
nearest relation and senior, to insist upon is this : you must 
know as well as I do that if you never make a will, poor 


disarmed: 


37 


Valerian would not so much as get a quarter’s allowance if it 
happened to be due.” 

So saying, Mr. Constantine rose and very significantly 
with his walking-stick traced on the carpet the family es- 
cutcheon bearing a Bar-Sinister. 

Miss Hermitage was not to be moved. 

“ Then it would fall to Stephana to provide for him. She 
has plenty of money. She may marry Valerian if she chooses 
when I am gone.” 

“ Oh ! you do think you shall go, as you call it, some time 
or other ? ” laughed Mr. Constantine, lightly. “ Don’t be so 
superstitious as to suppose that the making of a will would 
hasten departure. I made mine, the first of many, fifty years 
ago.” 

“ Much good it will do, if, as you say, you have nothing to 
leave.” 

“ Well, one always has something. For instance, in my 
last codicil I bequeathed to you my dress suit, shoe-buckles 
and all. It will so pleasingly remind you of the heyday of 
age we are now spending together, these lover-like confabu- 
lations and almost amorous confidences.” 

“ I am sure it is very handsome of you to leave me your 
old clothes ! Now had you left me the family portraits in 
your possession I would not say no.” 

“ Not too late ! ” cried Mr. Constantine, eagerly. “ I 
will order a fresh codicil to be drawn up this very day — pro- 
vided that you, by way of return, leave me five thousand a 
year ! ” 

“ You are absurdity itself. Ten years my senior, and asth- 
matic to boot ! ” 

“ Do oblige me, Christina. Supposing it should happen 
that I live to be a centenarian and you are prematurely cut 
off, how glad you would feel that you had smoothed my de- 
clining years ! ” 

‘‘ If you have not enough to live upon, you are most wel- 
come to anything you want. You know that well enough, 
Constantine. But I must go my own ways. I can not be 
interfered with.” 

“ I always said you were an angel. I only want, alas ! 
what you refuse to give me, your confidence, your affection. 
Well, I am off to Stephana. She never refuses me anything, 
and I will tell her that it is her duty to marry Valerian.” 

“ I hope she will tell you that it is your duty to leave other 
people’s marriages alone.” 


38 


disarmed: 


“ And wills ? Well, God ble'ss you, my dear Christina. 
We part in peace, I hope ? ” 

“ You are not going off on a journey, are you 1 ” asked Miss 
Hermitage. 

“ No, indeed,” was the reply. “ I could but think of your- 
self. The gruel basin, the hot posset, the slight — forgive me, 
Christina — the slight redness of the nose — all these things 
awaken anxiety when we are — well, no longer what we used 
to be.” 

“ Come, Constantine, the luncheon-bell ! You must really 
stay or go. Stay, I say, for Stephana’s genius does not lie in 
the direction of eating and drinking.” 

Raillery and banter will, however, often do what argument 
fails to accomplish, and Colette’s quick mind soon discovered 
that her friend and patroness was pondering. Something, 
the little Frenchwoman knew not what, had set her thinking. 
She entered airily as usual into the day’s distractions, with 
recovered health recovering her spirits. But she had evi- 
dently a weight on her mind. 

Now there was one person in the wide world from whom 
Miss Hermitage had no secrets, and that one person was 
Mademoiselle Colette. They had summered and wintered 
each other (to use a rustic phrase) for upward of fifty years. 
They had borne together the thralldom of youth, and in 
company had welcomed the deliverance that came with age. 
i\nd, strange to say, materialism and self-indulgence of the 
one had never infected the other. 

Colette, now an old woman, was all pure, unalloyed musi- 
calness and sweetness, as when,, an orphan girl of twenty, 
she had been received as companion to the miser’s daughter. 
Did the pair love each other ? Rather did Miss Hermitage 
love any one ? — for Colette’s warm heart embraced all the 
world. 

Who can answer such a question ? But if not affection, at 
least generosity or gratitude made the rich woman act a pro- 
tector’s part to the penniless one. Colette, to use her pa- 
troness’s words, had everything she wanted. Confidence, like 
love, is accorded to those who do not go out of their way in 
search of it, and Colette during fifty years had never asked 
Miss Hermitage a personal question. She knew well enough 
that in due time she should learn her friend’s most secret 
thought, and so it was now. 

“ Colly,” said Miss Hermitage, one morning, “ I am going 
to send Arthura and Valerian away to-morrow for a week. 


disarmed: 


39 


The servants must go too, except Bates, who is so deaf that 
she would not hear a cannon-ball going off under her ear. 
Mr. Brown is coming.” 

“ I am very glad,” answered Colette, always on the side of 
right and kindliness. 

“ Why you should be glad I can not conceive. What dif- 
ference can it make to you ? ” 

“ I was thinking of Valerian,” said the little Frenchwoman, 
meekly. 

“ One would suppose, to hear you and Constantine talk of 
Valerian, that I had never done anything for him. He has 
as much as he deserves, I am sure.” 

“ So have we all ; Some of us perhaps more,” was the reply. 

“ You talk like a child, Colette. As if deserving had any- 
thing to do with the good or evil fortune that befalls us in 
this world. Nobody deserves anything. We just take our 
chance as people do with lottery tickets. Well, Mr. Brown 
is coming, so I hope you will now be satisfied.” 

Nothing more was said, but next day by noon Miss Her- 
mitage’s house wore a look of funeral gloom. The shutters 
of the ground-floor were closed, the blinds of the upper 
chambers were drawn. Not a sign of life was to be seen. 
Some careless passers-by supposed that Miss Hermitage had 
been very suddenly stricken down with mortal sickness. 
Others that she had lost her cousin Mr. Constantine. The 
world of acquaintance took it for granted that she was, as the 
phrase goes, “ out of town.” No one surmised the true state 
of the case. Closeted with her faithful old friend and legal 
adviser Brown, Colette stationed outside the door lest even 
the deaf old woman-servant left in charge might peep through 
the key-hole. Miss Hermitage was at length making her will. 


CHAPTER X. 

Never spring-tide gave more seductive hints of sunshine 
holiday than on that April morning when Arthura and 
Valerian found themselves so unexpectedly and enchantingly 
cast adrift. How fair and pleasant looked the world ! The 
zephyrs breathed softly from the south, the brilliant metallic 
sea was changed to gently ruffled azure, the fishing-barks, in- 
stead of battling for very life with fury of wind and waves. 


40 


disarmed: 


glided lazily or lay at anchor, as if the sweet day would last 
forever. 

And life was theirs for seven whole days. No more amuse- 
ment to think of and to scheme, no more happy devices 
necessary daily, hourly, momentarily. 

They could both be as dull as they pleased till twelve of 
the clock that day week. No wonder they breathed, not 
common air, but intoxicating ether, and hardly touched the 
ground as they went. Noisy as must any railway station be, 
perhaps it is the most exhilarating place in the universe. 
The very railway whistle has sweetest music in it, the bustle 
and turbulence intoxicate the senses. We are going some- 
where ; we are leaving somebody behind. Let us pardon our 
ancestors their bloody encounters, their savage pastimes. 
They had no railway to whirl them in a twinkling from 
routine and relations. 

Arthura, a lackey beside her holding reticule and wraps, 
looked more like a queen than a young lady living, as the 
phrase goes, by her wits. A duchess might well have envied 
that erect carriage, that fine glow of spirit, that faultless set 
of the head, not to speak of eyes and brow. 

Valerian came up, cold as ice, and automatic as if he too 
wore livery. 

“There is your ticket,” he said. “ We must travel by sea- 
coast, as there is no other train for an hour. I go to the 
smoking carriage, so will say ‘good-by,’ and wish you a 
pleasant journey.” Then having seen to the proper arrange- 
ment of her bagatelles, he took formal leave. In another 
minute the train moved off, slowly following the sea-line. 
The radiant girl looked out of the window, smiling to herself, 
laughing to herself for very joy. But for the absurdity of it 
she must have burst out singing. A week, a long unending 
week of home, of freedom ! And Steppie and Walter and 
Benj amine ? What a surprise in store for them ! She saw 
already Walter’s pale cheek crimson with delight at the news. 
His own Arthura ! and for seven round days ! Tears of ex- 
quisite expectation filled her eyes. She could no longer con- 
tain herself. She was fairly crying at last — crying from pure 
gladness of soul. When the train stopped for a minute, the 
door of her carriage opened, and Valerian jumped in. With- 
out a word of apology he sat down. The cold ceremonious- 
ness of a quarter of an hour before hadjvanished. The mask 
was thrown aside. Her lover stood bending over her, kiss- 
ing away her tears. 


jD/SAI^M£D» 


41 


“The joy! the surprise !” was all she could say, whilst 
she wept on, he smiling reproaches. 

“ Listen I ” he said, flushed, trembling with haste and eager- 
ness. “ A wonderful idea has just flashed across my mind. 
You must not, you can not, say no. In the other end of the 
train is a protdgee of Colette’s, a French school-mistress, 
going back with her little girl to France. Let us go with 
them. Let us spend our holiday on the other side of the 
water.” 

All her doubts, misgivings, and hesitancy he read at a 
glance. Her pure, candid face opened to him as a book. 

“ I know this lady, Colette’s friend, well. She would take 
care of you. If the adventure is discovered, no blame could 
be attached to either of us. But it will not be discovered. 
I will bind her over to secrecy. And you shall have your 
promised holiday in the summer to spend at home. That I 
promise — I guarantee.” 

Still Arthura wavered. 

“ Think of me,” he urged. “ I could but see you at your 
step-motheFs. We have so much to say to each other, and 
here is an opportunity.” 

Arthura said never a word. 

“ Oh, we must go,” he cried. “ You need just such a 
distraction. And France ! France I To be in Frace ! Think 
of that I ” 

But Arthura could not think at all. The sudden sense of 
freedom, the relief at throwing aside the mask worn so many 
months, had quite overcome her. She only wanted a quiet 
place in which to weep happy tears. 

“ Then I decide for you,” he said. “ I not only decide, I 
take all the responsibility. We will go with this lady.. 
You shall stay under her roof, and every day we will run 
about in the country together.” 

That notion of running about in the country with Valerian 
made Arthura smile through her tears. She let him do as he 
would, only begging to be left alone for the present — till they 
were on the boat, till they were in France, she said. 

“ Till we get back again ? ” smiled Valerian. 

But he humored her, getting out at the next station, and 
Arthura had a priceless hour to herself. No one was by. 

She could ease her too happy heart by tears, not the first, 
certes, of her young life, but the first — perhaps the last — shed 
out of pure unalloyed joy. Who ever wept twice for being 
too happy ? 


42 


disarmed: 


Then the train stopped, and there came the excitement of 
a first little sea-voyage. Arthura, placed between her new 
friends, looked around her with quick, eager eyes. 

Nothing she saw now was ever forgotten : the strange sweet 
aspect of English landscape as it gradually faded from view ; 
the pure waters through which the vessel moved like a living 
thing that knows its way ; most of all the ships coming and 
going, the sea birds darting hither and thither. All was life 
and movement on what she had imagined to herself must be 
the solitary, silent ocean. Then as gradually dawned a 
beautiful old town built high on a green hill — no look of Eng- 
land here ; church towers, house-tops, even shutters, had an 
outlandish appearance. The place seemed to smile a wel- 
come, and gentle gales breathed from the lea-shore. Nearer 
and nearer they came till they were close under the bustling 
harbor and quaint town, both bright as in a picture. 

The sailors on the quay shouted, using foreign speech, and 
military music could be heard from a neighboring square. 
A little convent bell tinkled sweetly in the suburbs. 

At last the keel grazed the sand, and the travellers landed 
one by one under the waving tricolor. 

They had set foot on the soil of happy France, the pleas- 
ant, pleasant land — land of liberty, of light-heartedness, and 
of love ! 


CHAPTER XI. 

All as yet had seemed like a dream to Arthura, the sail, 
the landing, the long, long journey westward, then the ar- 
rival at the fair city, enthroned so statelily on the Loire. It 
was morning when the train crawled slowly along the quays 
bristling with masts, and close under the shadows of the 
venerable cathedral, into the station. The sun was flashing 
on town and river, gilding the ancient palaces of merchant 
princes, burnishing dome and cupola, lending Venetian 
warmth and sumptousness to the scene. And over all such 
a sky ! Flawless, dazzling, southern blue. Were there never 
any clouds in France ? asked the wondering Arthura. 

She awoke to the reality of things when she found her- 
self in Madame Henri’s little parlor alone with Valerian — 
hostess and little daughter out marketing, the class-rooms 
closed on account of Easter holiday, half an hour certainly, 
perhaps an hour, all their own, before dejeuner. 


disarmed: 


43 


“ At last ! ” he said, and, perhaps pardonably, gathered 
her for a moment to his lips, his heart, his knee. “ At last ! ” 

But it was for a moment only. 

The next Arthura was standing beside his chair, not in the 
least ready to cry of joy now, but herself every inch, raillery 
as well as love looking out of her eyes, a thousand things be- 
sides sentiment on her lips. 

“ What will become of us ? ” she asked roguishly. “ We 
are ruined. We are undone.” 

Quite pardonably, it must be admitted. Valerian would 
fain have had one kiss more, only the third after six months’ 
waiting, he pleaded. But Arthura laughingly changed the 
subject. 

“ We are ruined,” she repeated, looking artlessly, foolishly 
blissful over the prospect. 

“ Yes,” he replied, shaking his head with a woe-begone 
look. “ My poor little girl ! ruin is just the word. Nothing 
could have turned out so deplorable for both of us as this 
business. It is, in fact, suicidal.” 

“ I am as good as married already, for I have a family 
to support,” began Arthura, with eyes brimful of hope and 
joy. 

“ And I have.no prospects. I must stay with my cousin,” 
said Valerian, looking equally radiant. 

“I have my father’s debts to pay.” And for a mo- 
ment Arthura’s face clouded over. The next she was spark- 
ling as before. 

“ I shall perhaps be my own master, and able to marry 
you, when I am sixty. Will you wait for me so long, my poor 
Arthura ? ” 

Arthura laughed gayly. 

“Shall I have done all that I must do by that time? 
Thirty years ! thirty years ! You would be sixty, I fifty-three. 
It seems a long time, yet with the children to educate and place 
out, not a day too much. It would be safer to say forty.” 
And again she laughed merrily. “ Would you love me for 
forty years ? ” she asked, and bending down as she stood be- 
hind his chair, he unconscious of the act, she just touched 
his brown curls with her lips. 

“ No, I can not promise. You are the cleverer at devices. 
Find some means of solving the problem.” 

“ Oh, let us not think of the future to-day ! ” she cried, 
passionately. “ Let us run about the woods and gather 
wild flowers like children. The problem can wait,” 


44 


disarmed: 


“ For forty years ? Well, give me one kiss, and I will 
promise anything you please ? ” 

“Not to marry Stephana, then?” she asked, full of vi- 
vaciousness. “ For that is what they have set their minds on, 
my poor boy — I mean Miss Hermitage and Mr. Constantine. 
Stephana is to marry you, and you are to become a grand 
personage.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” he said, sharply and reproachfully. “ Who 
could have put such an idea into your head ? ” 

“ Well, Stephana would not have you ; that I am sure of,” 
was the saucy reply. 

“ You do not know that either,” Valerian said, distracted 
by Arthura’s spirit and beauty, in almost a love-like frenzy 
at the notion that she loved him, was to belong to him, yet at 
the same time a little ruffled at her outspokenness and want 
of appreciation. And a second time the temptation was too 
great. She was more than bewitching, but she had hurt his 
vanity ; a second time he took her lover-like in his arms as 
he put the question. “ Tell me, was it but a mock quarrel, 
like the rest, for Miss Hermitage’s diversion, or did you mean 
it ? You once called me dull ! ” 

“ What people do in play they are apt to do in earnest. 
Let me tell you what is on my mind, for once, for all,” she 
said, sitting beside him, at first neither sad nor merry, in 
every-day sober-colored mood. “ My own Valerian,” she be- 
gan, “ you must know how hard it has been to keep up this 
deception so long. When I first went to Miss Hermitage’s 
I thought nothing could be easier than to pretend to dislike 
you, loving you all the while. And, besides, it was my bread 
and the poor childrens’.” She dashed away a tear or two ; 
then went on. “ It was my father’s honor. I could not re- 
fuse. But I have felt a dozen times as if I must go and tell 
Miss Hermitage all.” 

“ You will not — promise me you will not? ” asked Valerian, 
greatly disturbed. 

“ I have no right to betray you. Be easy,” she said, rais- 
ing her tear-wet face to his, kissing him as if he were a child, 
a weak thing dependent on her. “ But if you will not release 
me from the bond, let me go.” Again she turned to him, 
this time with passionate pleading — with love unutterable 
looking out of her pure eyes. “ We should be able to see each 
other now and then. We could write to each other. I am 
sure we should both be much happier.” 

“ Well,” Valerian said, very kindly, even tenderly, “we 


disarmed: 


45 

will turn the matter over in our minds. We will talk about 
it.” 

“ I can not quarrel with you any more. The pretense of 
disliking you became unbearable sometimes,” Arthura con- 
tinued. “ I really felt as if it must be true, or as if it would 
come true.” 

“ And so you really meant it when you called me dull .? ” 

I dare say I did. I feel vicious enough to say anything 
sometimes.” 

“It does great credit to us that everybody has been so 
completely taken in,” laughed Valerian. 

“No ; it is just that I feel ashamed of,” Arthura said, ris- 
ing to her feet, and a fine glow of indignation on her cheeks. 
“ There must be nobility enough in Miss Hermitage to par- 
don us, if we go to her and reveal all.” 

“ Never ! never ! You little know my cousin. You do not 
know her at all,” cried Valerian. “ Such a step would be 
ruin, sheer ruin for us both, my poor Arthura ; and listen, my 
love, my wife that is to be. There can, of course, be no se- 
crets between us. Sit down for a minute on my knee whilst 
I tell you something.” 

For a moment such a look of pain and forlornness came 
into her lover’s face that Arthura could refuse him nothing. 
There was actually tears of mortification in his eyes. 

“ Listen, my little girl, my only friend,” he whispered, as 
for a moment they sat thus cheek to cheek and hand to hand. 
“ This poor Valerian you love so dearly has nothing, not even 
a name, to give you. I must keep down high spirit. I must 
be Miss Hermitage’s bond-servant; as long as she lives, since 
it is she who picked me out of the gutter.” 

Arthura, all gentleness, listened now, sitting close beside 
him, looking up at him with mute yet sweetest consolation. 

“ Is it any wonder that I show what may look like a craven 
spirit ^ But for Christina I should have shared the fate of 
thousands of forlorn wretches born into vagabondage, living 
witnesses of secret sin.” He was absolutely in tears, this 
ready, volatile, light-hearted Valerian, as, still leaning his 
cheek to hers, he blurted out the rest. “ You, my love, my 
wife to be, my one close friend, must know all. I am called 
by the name of my kinsfolk, but I am one of them on suffer- 
ance only. Is it not monstrous, shameful, that such things 
should be } But you will love me none.tlie worse ? ” 

For answer, the passionate girl put her arms proudly, pro- 
tectively, about him. “ What are you, what can you ever be 


46 


DISARMED. 


to me, but Valerian ? ” she said. “ It need not prevent us 
from being happy.” 

“ And if we have patience and tact, we may be happy ere 
we think,” Valerian said. “ But I must not go against 
Christina’s wishes.” 

“ And if she bids you do it, you will have to marry Ste- 
phana ” Arthura said, playfully. 

“ Leave Stephana alone,” he replied, with a touch of irrita- 
tion. “ Stephana is generous enough for that. She little 
thinks that a little penniless girl bewitched me past cure long 
ago.” He was recovering his spirits. 

“ Do you really think we shall be happy some day ? ” she 
asked. “ Can things come right for us as they do in story- 
books ” 

“It will not be my fault if they go w^rong. But you must 
be guided by me in everything. Promise.” 

“That is vaguely said. Put in plain words what I am to 
promise you,” said the happy girl, delighted to see her Vale- 
rian himself once more. 

“ Then promise me two things : you will stay with Chris- 
tina as long as I wish it ; and you will never, never breathe 
a word of our engagement to any living soul.” 

“ We shall see,” Arthura answered. “ We shall reflect. 
What if Miss Hermitage should some day grow tired of me ? 
I could not stay then.” 

“ She will never grow tired of you whilst you amuse her, 
and you can continue to do that.” 

“ Who knows ? I amuse Miss Hermitage now without 
taking any trouble about it. Why it should be so I do not 
conceive. The least thing I say makes her smile. She must 
have lived all her life with people who only said Yes and 
No. I never say Yes and No, and that amuses her, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ You must never begin to say Yes and No, then. Under- 
stand, my Arthura, if my cousin chose, she may make your 
fortune as well as mine. We are both in her hands com- 
pletely ; ” and Valerian’s face assumed its every-day, worldly 
look. “ We must act our respective parts more discreetly, 
more circumspectly, than ever.” 

“ Let Miss Hermitage make your fortune, and let me run 
away, then. One will suffice for us both,” pleaded Arthura. 
“ Were I no longer present, there need be no acting at all.” 

Valerian’s brow grew dark. 

“ 'rhere is the bell, and I promised to answer it. It is 


disarmed: 


47 


Aladeleine and her mother back from market,” she cried, 
jumping from her seat with a sense of relief. 

True enough, it was their hostesses laden with marketings, 
flowers for grace, and a brilliant display for delectation. 
There were strawberries of the four seasons, crimson of crim- 
sons ; bananas barred with black and gold like a bumble-bee, 
the zebra’d banana, as some French writer aptly calls it; as- 
paragus, wands of ivory tipped with pink ; the tropical mad- 
apple, deepest shelly purple ; the prickly artichoke, delicate 
sea-green, smooth as if carved out of marble for the crowning 
of a column. And there was butter, yellow as gold from the 
rich pasturage of Brittany, and ray-fish fresh from the Loire ; 
galettes crisp and brown, fried a quarter of an hour ago by 
light-fingered itinerant pastry-cooks ; bread of that glossy ro- 
mantic brown never tasted out of France — and indeed what 
was there not for epicures 1 

The servant had been sent home for her holiday, so hosts 
and guests set to work — Madame Henri to make the omelette 
and cook the fish ; Valerian to act the butler, which he did 
to perfection ; the two girls to lay the cloth. What a merry 
breakfast it was ! How the wine seemed to sparkle ! How 
the least little thing invited mirth ! There was only one 
drawback. In the midst of a lively conversation Madame 
Henri suddenly recollected the thousand francs spent on her 
daughter’s English education. “ Speak English,” she cried 
in a shrill voice. “ Speak English, I say.” 

“ But, mamma, you will not understand.” 

“ What does that matter ? Speak English, I repeat.” 

So the rest of the talk was carried on in English, Madame 
Henri dumb, but delighted. What was Madeleine thinking 
of, forsooth ? Two English guests, whose talk at meals was 
worth a dozen lessons at five francs apiece, did not drop from 
the clouds every day. And opportunities of putting money 
in our pockets must never be wasted, thought the French- 
woman. 

What would you have ? If her heart was in her pocket, 
how many others are similarly located ! Some people’s 
hearts, alas ! are in their palates, not a few feminine ones in 
their looking-glasses, a considerable number are not to be 
found anywhere, and few, very few, we may be sure, are in 
their right place. 

Madame Henri was not to be blamed for seizing upon any 
small worldly advantage that came in her way. Had Shak- 
speare himself been sitting at her table, she would have fore- 


48 


disarmed: 


gone the pleasure of listening to him for the sake of her 
daughter’s English. We are what circumstances make us, 
and people who live by their wits must not be Quixotic, but 
look to actualities. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The month of May ! — the month of Marie ! Valerian and 
Arthura had touched French «oil just as pious maidens were 
heaping fresh flowers on the altars in honor of the Virgin, 
and now it was May indeed. 

And what a May ! June seemed to have come in her sis- 
ter’s place. The. air was fragrant with magnolias in full 
bloom ; camellias, red and white, made a blaze of splendor 
in the public gardens ; people sunned themselves at their 
doors all day long. 

Almost Southern voluptuousness comes with the summer 
to this imperial capital of Western France, so proudly con- 
fronting river and ocean. The city itself offers many entice- 
ments. There are the tropic alleys of the common pleasure- 
ground ; the stately quays, where wave flags from the wide 
world ; and, high above, terraced walks, whence you may 
survey the whole scene — city and cathedral ; fair open coun- 
try ; and, studded with many an emerald islet, the superb, 
the swift-flowing, the unbridled Loire, benefactor to-day, de- 
vastator to-morrow, majestic, beautiful ever. 

But when had town birds music for lovers’ ears ? Arthura 
and Valerian were off every morning, like liberated school- 
children, and nothing more was seen of them till the six- 
o’clock dinner. They would take the little steamer and go 
down the Erdre — the silvery, sleepy Erdre — thridding sedgy 
banks, now bright with iris and daffodil, and holms green as 
emerald, and low hills and coppice woods alive with song. 
Or they would use the little boats plying on the Loire, and 
alight at the flrst landing-place that invited, now to wander 
amid islanded apple orchards and quiet homesteads, now to 
climb the steep river-bank, and from some high point watch 
the ships hastening toward the sea. 

Then, again, was the diligence. Without asking their 
destination, they would take their seats by the drivers, sure 
to come to some happy place, flowery meadows, little bits of 
woods Still left to the birds and the squirrels, and bending 
rivers with weirs making tiny cascades. 


disarmed: 


49 


But what pleased them best was just to take the common, 
unpoetic city omnibuses, and being drift in the suburbs, and 
shift for themselves. For this hoary, venerable city, like 
knotted and gnarled oak lightly covered with virgin ivy of 
purest green, or some other beautiful parasite, was rich in 
borrowed youth and rustic grace. No great surprises here, 
no natural wonders, but Nature in her sweetest, most gra- 
cious, most captivating mood. Other French cities possess 
far greater claims to suburban picturesqueness and grandeur, 
none such winning entourage of quiet caressing beauty. The 
happy lovers would then quit the diligence where it stopped 
at the octroi, and plunge, no matter where, so long as it was 
country, and not town. 

And just outside the dusty high-roads, just beyond sound 
of railway whistle, they would find little Eden-like solitudes of 
verdure and floweriness, sun-lit velvety spaces between thicket 
and thicket, close-shut garths abloom with flower of apple and 
plum, a thousand lovely hiding-places for too happy hearts. 

The charm of these little gold-green glades was the captiva- 
ting way in which one led to another. It was like stepping 
from chamber to chamber in an enchanted palace. Cool, 
silent, delicious, rich in sunshine and umbrageous shadow, 
all were alike. Yet each seemed fairer than the last. These 
little open spaces, indeed, were but clearings of what had once 
been forest, carelessly left because there was land enough and 
to spare. As the pair threaded the green ways or sunned 
themselves, resting on the soft, warm, bloomy moss, farm-yard 
sounds would reach them from the homesteads nestled near 
— cackling of hens and quacking of ducks, cheery song of 
blue-bloused cowherd or contented bleating of goats. No 
stiles, no gates, no ha-ha hedges. Lovers keeping holiday 
may trespass unmolested in France. 

Then the wild-flowers ! Sometimes Arthura would leave 
Valerian to smoke his cigar, dream his day-dream, or watch 
the crimson-tufted hoopoe and the yellow^oriole — melancholy 
birds ! — under the hedge, and alone wade ankle-deep in flowers 
through the unknown meadows. In moist pastures by the 
river the air was sweet with the rock cistus and the grape 
hyacinth, whilst the open sunny reaches showed the deep 
purple columbine and the ox-eyed daisy. How warm and 
lustrous gleamed the grasses in the sun ! No exotics fairer 
or half so ethereal as these tasseled blossoms all silver or 
gold. Here and there the sorrel flower glowed coral pink as 
a child’s ear. But the glory of the world just then was the 


50 


“disarmed: 


mellow grass awaiting the mower’s scythe. Who can describe 
it ? Wave upon wave of feathery gold, the crowning glory of 
day and subdued splendor of night, sun and moon in one ! 

The evenings were no less blissful to the lovers, but hardly 
their own in company of the school-mistress and her fifteen- 
year-old daughter. 

They would visit the crowded churches, warm and laden 
with breaths of flowers, and listen to the music in honor of the 
Catholics’ Marie. It was such music as Arthura had never 
yet listened to — faultless, passionate, poetic. 

Not only the human voice, but the very musical instruments 
seemed to throb with love, awe, and pious feeling ; whilst 
throughout the vast isles, fragrant with fresh flowers, all was 
rapt silence. No sounds, but the melodic strains as they rose 
and fell, now filling the building, now dying away faint as an 
echo. 

More in keeping with common minds was the military 
music in the public gardens ; and thither they went, also for 
the sake of sociability and wandering between thickets of 
camellias and azalea, or beneath the fragrant small-leaved 
magnolia, now in full white and purple bloom. The stirring 
trumpet, the shrill clarion, the bugle, the drum, the swift gay 
measures, all seemed to echo love and joy. 

Such distractions but lent wings to the uncounted hours. 
It seemed only yesterday they had come. To-morrow they 
must go. Arthura, bravest of the brave, turned pale at the 
thought which seemed to have burst upon her quite suddenly. 

They were loitering in the quiet alleys of the garden, 
already so dear and familiar, when it occurred to her that it 
must be for the last time. 

To-morrow they should be up betimes the day after to- 
morrow no more dreams, no more love, no more confidences. 

“ I must say one thing,” she said, passionately earnest and 
vehement. “ I could bear to be separated from you. I should 
not mind that, for^. I know you will never, never change, my 
Valerian. But do not force me any longer to live the life 
that is a lie. Let me go, or let us tell the truth.” 

“ My dearest child,” he replied — it was precisely the reply 
she dreaded — “have a little more patience. Things will 
also be much easier for you. There is your holiday to come. 
I am going to take my cousin to London, perhaps to Paris.” 

“ She will want me to go too,” said Arthura, dismally. 
Nothing had power to depress her but Valerian’s manner of 
looking at certain things. 


disarmed: 


51 

But how much easier is it to forget what we have on our 
minds when we are perpetually moving from place to place ! 
You will have no time to trouble yourself with sophistries.” 

Arthura shook her head. 

“ I promise you one thing,” she said, proudly. “ I will 
keep silence as to our engagement. But I do not promise 
to stay with Miss Hermitage.” 

“ My dear Arthura, we serve people much better by being 
politic than by all the Quixotism in the world. Our private 
matters concern not Christina at all. But she is really de- 
pendent on your company. It would be the greatest possible 
affliction to lose you. And if you are necessary to her, she is 
a thousand fold more necessary to you.” He smiled upon 
her with lover-like pride and fondness as he added : “ You 
have no accomplishments, my poor Arthura. You are a par- 
agon, but of what? Not of book-learning certainly, and not 
in the matter of the arts either. Stay, then, with Christina, 
who enriches you just because you are what nature made 
you.” There was deep, unanswerable worldly wisdom here. 

Arthura thought of Steppie and the children, and sorrow- 
fully held her peace. 

“ How happy we were when I first made your acquaintance 
at Margate ! ” she said at last. “ Do you remember pulling 
Benjamine out of the water, and leaving your card next day ? 
Then Benjamine running after you in the street to thank you, 
and the walks we took together ! We shall never have so 
good a time again. And when you came one day with the 
good news that your rich relation would take me on trial, I 
could have kissed the very ground you walked upon. You 
were the veriest Providence to us ! ” 

She was quietly weeping under her veil, but he added, 
cheerily, 

“ And now you look upon me almost as an enemy for hav- 
ing fallen in love with you.” 

“ You must understand me,” Arthura said, proudly, dash- 
ing away her tears. “ All the burdens that seemed so heavy 
before — my father’s debts, the children’s maintenance — these 
are nothing compared to the weight on my mind now. We 
both owe everything to Miss Hermitage. It breaks my heart 
to deceive her.” 

“Foolish child!” said Valerian, bending low and whis- 
pering in her ear. “ It is only a sport, a play. In a year or 
two when our circumstances have a little mended, we will 
come to France again, and on a different errand. You know 


52 


disarmed: 


on what ! It will be in my cousin’s own interest to forgive 
us then.” 

With these vague, lover-like consolations he cheered her 
drooping spirits, and Arthura, finding that her words made 
no impression, changed the subject. 

It was a new and bitter experience to her that even love 
could not make two people understand each other in all 
things. And what is love worth, indeed, if it fails to unveil 
heart to heart ? 

Nevertheless the home journey was made pleasantly, even 
gayly. Valerian was a perfect lover. Arthura could but let 
herself be made happy, after foolish lovers’ fashion, and 
there was no failing of her courage when once more the sun 
arose, on a common day. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

But can the sun ever be said to shine on a common day ? 
Just as the heavens are thronged with dark stars, globe upon 
globe, that wander unperceived amid their shining compeers, 
so human events are in part hidden from observation. We 
see and take account of what is conspicuous and self-evident; 
little do we dream of all that is going on around us, under 
our very eyes even, perhaps far more momentous to ourselves 
personally, but unrecognized and unrecorded for the time be- 
ing as if they were not. 

No sooner were the shutters opened and the blinds raised 
in Miss Hermitage’s house than all was bustle and commo- 
tion. A thousand things had to be done, a dozen plans ma- 
tured ; May to be spent in Paris, June in London, the hot 
months on the banks of the Thames or in the Highlands, 
then back again by November to the kindly south coast. 

“But mind. Valerian, not to the same house,” Miss Her- 
mitage said. “ A house, like a husband, should always be 
taken on trial. It is wonderful how perfect houses and peo- 
ple seem when they do not belong to us, when we can get 
rid of them at a moment’s notice. The very notion of not 
being able to get rid of a thing makes it odious. So no 
houses except on short leases.” 

Arthura found it easy to be light-hearted amid the dis- 
tractions of a general packing up. But what if she could 
have heard a certain conversation going on just then between 
her lover and Mr. Constantine ? The old man had called to 


bisai^med: 


53 


take leave of his cousin, and catching Valerian by the button, 
carried him off to his lodgings. 

“ Give me five minutes, or a quarter of an hour at most, 
my dear Valerian,” he said, comfortably settling down for a 
leisurely talk. “ You are rich in time, a millionaire, indeed, 
but I am a pauper, my few wretched coins, counted out ev- 
ery day, fast dwindling.” 

“ An hour if you please, sir,” Valerian said, in his airiest, 
pleasantest manner. Busy as he was all day, he always found 
time to be pleasant. 

“ You are a very agreeable person ; you ought to succeed, 
as the phrase goes,” began Mr. Constantine, perusing the 
other’s physiognomy with uncommon attention. “ But now 
tell me, my good Valerian — I am interested in you, as I am 
bound to be, of course — tell me your own notion of success. 
What do you mean to do with yourself ? What have you 
thought of as a career ? For of course you must not spend 
the best part of your life in simply making yourself agree- 
able.” 

Valerian laughed his little hard, worldly laugh. “ I ought 
to plume myself in being able to do that,” he said, sarcast- 
ically. “ It is at least a livelihood.” 

“ You have caught the family trick of jesting with serious 
things, I see. But listen to me. If, as I take it, you have 
good parts, and if, as I am willing to believe, you have feel- 
ings to match, then, my dear Valerian, you need not restsat- 
isfed with being a finished nobody.” 

Valerian laughed once more. 

“ It is not every nobody who can be finished, so I pay you 
a compliment after all. But now just think how much better 
you might do. As far as possibilities go, you are the luck- 
iest person in the world.” 

“ Possibilities can hardly be regarded as a career either,” 
Valerian made light and biting answer. 

“ Ah ! you are far from divining my purport. What, then, 
is not within your reach if Stephana consents to marry you } 
All things are possible where a generous woman is con- 
cerned.” 

Valerian sat still, flushed, dazed, unable to open his lips. 

“ We are alone. I am an old man, and her kinsman as 
well as yours. I may speak openly to you,” continued Mr. 
Constantine. “And I tell you I dare aver that Stephana 
would marry you, out of pure generosity, maybe, but of a 
kind not to be spurned.” 


54 


disarmed: 


Valerian remained dumb. 

“ The fact is, my dear Valerian, Stephana is noble to a 
degree that may be called Quixotic. The very reason that 
might prevent another woman from giving you her hand 
would induce Stephana to proffer hers. You must understand 
me.” 

Still Valerian’s pale lips found no words. 

“ Stephana would of her own accord and in her own per- 
son atone to you for the wrong done you by*" one also of our 
kith and kin. But before going any further let me remind 
you of an important point. This sweet, lovely Stephana has 
a propensity which may have escaped your notice. She is 
always on the lookout for people’s ‘ souls.’ If you have not 
a soul, I fear she will have nothing to say to you.” 

“ What is a soul ? ” asked Valerian, half in jest, half serious. 

“ You may well ask what,” said the old man, “ But Ste- 
phana knows. Stephana is not to be deceived. Now I am 
quite sure she is prepared to marry you. But I am equally 
sure of another thing : you must satisfy her exactions on 
moral and spiritual points. I am in earnest. Valerian. This 
noble creature has nothing in common with certain others of 
our name, but name. The world for her is no mere fair, no 
raree-show got up for sensual gratification, but a serious 
place — a place in which our business is to do, and not look 
vacantly on. As the steward of Stephana’s fortunes, your 
work would lie in wholly new lines.” 

“ Pardon me, I ask with all respect,” Valerian said, still 
unmanned, and even agitated, “ but will you tell me if Ste- 
phana has authorized you to speak to me on the subject ? ” 

“ She has,” replied Mr. Constantine. “One word more, 
however, about this said business of the soul. It is the most 
weighty, after all, for everything hangs on it. Stephana’s 
fortune and future are wedded to the public good. Would 
you be ready to aid and uphold her ? to sympathize with her 
philanthropic schemes, and not to rail at them t You must 
know, my good Valerian, that doing good, as the phrase goes, 
is a serious matter nowadays. The Holy Elizabeths and 
Vincent de Pauls are out of date, outlandish as the clothes 
they wore, obsolete as the speech they used. What alone 
can help the world now is a magnanimous public spirit, a new 
and more righteous law, not baskets of broken bread for the 
poor and spitals for the old.” 

He looked inquisitorially at his companion, and added, 
laughing lightly ; “You know something of my career — no 


disarmed: 


55 


irreproachable one in the matter of domestic relations, no 
exemplary one in matters of finance. But mark me, Valerian, 
from first to last I have steadfastly kept my post in the van- 
guard of progressive opinion, and Liberalism, like charity, 
covereth a multitude of sins. I was a spendthrift at your 
age, a sad wild fellow too, but I have helped to amend more 
than one bad law, to frame more than one just one. The 
world owes more to me, the sinner, than to many a congrega- 
tion of saints.” 

“ That may well be, sir,” Valerian said, laughing. 

“ Hearken, my dear Valerian. Let not the belief in what I 
call twopenny-halfpenny morality be your stumbling-block. 
Mind, I am not jeering at the bread-and-butter virtues. A 
man is bound to possess them, just as he is bound to have 
his linen washed and his beard trimmed ; he is a reprobate 
without. But never think that you will save your soul (an- 
other phrase for fulfilling your duty) by being what is called 
an indulgent husband, a kind father, and so forth. Pshaw ! 
The epitaphs make me sick, for, I ask you now, is it any 
credit to a man to be kind to his own wife, good to his own 
children ? Were he otherwise he must stand lower than the 
brutes ; but write what eulogies you please on the tomb of him 
who has befriended the abandoned wife and the widow, who 
has fathered the orphan, adopted the friendless.” 

“The fact is,” Valerian made answer, “so little virtue has 
hitherto shone in the world that we have had to make the most 
of it.” 

“ Aptly said. Now note for a moment the abjectness of 
human ideals, when we glorify what we are pleased to call ma- 
ternal devotion. Why, the she-animals will give up their lives 
for their young. Is a woman to be praised for what is no 
virtue among the brutes } And this same beautiful maternal 
devotion, forsooth ! Do you suppose there was none of it 
among the fair-haired Southerners who, with babes at their 
own breasts, could see black sucklings daily torn away from 
their mothers ? Were the Roman matrons devoid of ma- 
ternal devotion, think you, while they could amuse themselves 
with torturing their slaves ? The fact is, we are still in an 
age of rudimentary virtue. The higher is yet to be acquired, 
and then an epitaph will have some meaning.” 

Again his eyes wandered to Valerian. 

“ I really do not know if I am merely hearkened to out of 
pure amiability and politeness, or if you are of this way of 
thinking.” 


56 


disarmed: 


“ To tell you the plain truth,” Valerian answered, promptly, 
“ I have been so much occupied in amusing Christina that 
I have had no time to think of other things.” 

“ Poor Christina ! Who will amuse her in another world, 
I wonder? But the inclination, my dear fellow — ^what about 
the inclination ? ” 

“ I will not play the hypocrite, sir. I have administered 
the funds intrusted to me by my cousin for charitable pur- 
poses to the best of my abilities, and there the matter has 
ended. It is little of heart or conscience that I have put into 
the business.” 

“ That is candidly spoken. But now, supposing Stephana 
marries you, are you prepared to put heart and conscience, 
not into giving away money — charity, so called — but into the 
larger, wider interests of life ? Between ourselves, Stephana 
has set her mind on seeing you in Parliament.” 

Valerian started and again flushed. 

“ You may well be surprised. But it is not impossible. If 
I live it is not impossible, that is to say. You know that I 
was many years in Parliament myself. Plad I had a son, a 
nephew, a grandson, a great-nephew, handy last year on the 
occasion of the election, the thing would have been accom- 
plished. Such an opportunity may occur again.” 

“You are very kind,” Valerian said, utterly discomfited 
and embarrassed. 

“ There you are, swearing by the two penny-halfpenny vir- 
tues, the bread-and-butter moralities, again. Do not think so 
meanly of Stephana and myself as to suppose that we should 
put a weighty responsibility upon your shoulders out of mere 
kindness, a wish to be agreeable. No, Valerian, I speak once 
for all plainly to you. Take in my meaning. We want an 
exponent, a mouthpiece. We want an heir of our convictions. 
For if I can not leave you an obolus (I shall have just one left 
to pay the dark ferryman’s fare), I can at least bequeath you 
something not to be bought with money. You would come 
before the world as the inheritor of my political and social 
opinions.” 

“ I am most deeply beholden to you — to Stephana no less,” 
began Valerian, falteringly. “But — ” 

“ But you are taken by surprise. You want to be left to 
yourself awhile. We quite understand that,” replied Mr. 
Constantine, kindly. “ Nor can Stephana be pressed either. 
She begged me to add that. You must say nothing to her 
till she herself opens the subject.” 


disai^meb: 


57 


Valerian breathed more freely. 

“ Should I write to her ? ” he asked. 

“ By no means. I was only to clear the way, as it were, 
for future negotiations,” said Mr. Constantine. • “ Say noth- 
ing, do nothing, till she first gives a sign.” 

“ And when will that be, sir ? ” asked Valerian, still pale 
and anxious. 

“Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps a year hence. Who can 
answer for a woman ? ” laughed Mr. Constantine. 

“ We are not likely to meet just yet,” Valerian said, with 
sudden alacrity. “ I am to carry off our cousin to Paris to- 
morrow.” 

“ To Paris ! And what on earth has Christina to do in 
Paris 1 Buy new ball dresses and new bonnets to carry with 
her to Persephone’s kingdom ? Has she thought of the small 
amount of luggage permitted us on that journey } But never 
mind. Give her my love, Valerian — my best love. She has 
just sent me a dozen of Madeira.” 

“ And what are you going to do, sir ? ” 

“ What should an octogenarian do but sit in the sun, and 
get a neighbor to listen to his babblings ? Good-by, my dear 
fellow. Bring Christina and her new bonnets safe back from 
Paris.” 

What could Valerian do but feel ready to curse alike his 
good and evil fortune ? The evil, indeed, seemed more bear- 
able than the good just then. To endure poverty, insignifi- 
cance, nay, ignominy, by Arthura’s side would be easy ; but 
to give up Arthura’s love for the cold splendor of Stephana’s 
friendship was impossible. He would write to her at once, 
thank her for her magnanimity, and reveal the truth. 

There was nothing else, indeed, to do. Stephana should 
receive a letter explaining everything that very day. Having 
come to a conclusion without immediately acting upon it. 
Valerian’s mind, as often happens, now went through a series 
of indecisions that finally landed him on one of a directly 
opposite nature. 

To write to Stephana was the only straightforward, man- 
ly, inevitable course. So said Valerian at the outset, yet, 
because he did not forthwith sit down to do it, one sophistry 
after another made itself heard on the other side. He must 
write warily. Stephana must not know of the trap into 
which Christina had fallen. Such a disclosure would prove 
fatal to Arthura’s prospects as well as his own. Some other 
justificatory plea must be put forward. But what plea ? A 


58 


disaj^med: 


hint of concealed romance, a vague indication of the reah 
ity ? No ; suspicion would naturally fall on Arthura, and by 
little and little the whole truth would ooze out.. To wait, to 
temporize, to trust to happy chance, seemed at first the easi- 
est and soon the only expedient, even practicable, course. 

And, after all, there was no question of love on Stephana’s 
side. That he knew right well. Stephana’s nature was 
high-minded, large-hearted generosity — nothing more. When 
she might fairly be intrusted with his story she would very 
likely feel a sense of relief, and profess herself quite ready 
to do all for Arthura’s lover that she had proposed to do for 
a husband. And finally, reasoned Valerian, nothing was to 
be gained and all hazarded by precipitation. He had fallen 
into the common mistake of measuring others by his own 
standard, failing to take into account that he had here to do, 
not with the world, but with a noble woman. How should 
he know that truth was to Stephana as the very air she 
breathed, the mere suspicion of falsehood or make-believe 
being poison to her ? 

Gradually, therefore, he decided to put away present per- 
plexities with the comfortable thought of compromise. He 
should win Stephana over to his cause by tact and persua- 
sion, and thus obtain at last all the advantages she had prof- 
fered, without sacrificing Arthura. He should become 
Arthura’s husband and Stephana’s heir. 

Nor did it seem incumbent upon him to unbosom himself 
to Arthura. Why disturb her mind and make her unhappy 
by the thought that she was standing between him and his 
fortunes ? Time enough to tell the flattering tale when she 
should be his wife, and would listen playfully and proudly. 
And there was another re-assuring thought : Stephana might 
very likely change her mind altogether. Valerian finally 
ended his cogitation by willing one thing and wishing another. 
Arthura must, should be his wife. None the less Stephana 
should give him a brilliant position in the world. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Little time indeed had the lovers for confidential talk 
either in Paris or London. Just as the choicest cates are to 
be had for money, so what is called agreeable society becomes 


disarmed: 


59 


a matter of the purse. We are perhaps the very best com- 
pany in the world, but the wise and the witty, our compeers, 
are ^bribed by the rich inviter, and we sit down to our Bar- 
mecide’s feast alone. Alexander visited the son of Sinope 
in his tub, it is true ; but then the fame of Diogenes was 
greater than that of Alexander. Few of us but would dine 
off the cynic’s portion of beans once in our lives if we were 
sure to be talked of ever after. For the most part the Diog- 
eneses are forgotten, and well for those who have wit that the 
dull never find it out ! Were the man of intellectual parts 
and spirit appreciated by the mob, he would be more pes- 
tered than a Prime Minister. 

Miss Hermitage’s comfortable hotel on the Champs Ely- 
sees was filled from morning till night with well-dressed, gay, 
and pleasant visitants. Everybody was seeing everything, 
and of course had something to say. It were hard indeed 
had they not, considering that amusement was the business 
of life. For what Miss Hermitage was doing so deliberately 
and with such desperate resolve the rest were doing as a mat- 
ter of course. Why moralize ? Is not half the world occu- 
pied in amusing the other half ? Is it not in the natural order 
of things that we should lazily enjoy whilst others toil and 
moil If it ought not to be so, then why is it so ? Let the 
moralist answer. 

“ I do think Paris quite perfection,” Miss Hermitage said. 
“No dingy little streets ; no rags and poverty at every cor- 
ner. All spick and span, brand-new, and handsome. And 
what a comfort that the woe-begone-looking people keep out of 
sight ! ” 

Herein was she not following the example of her neighbors 
also ? Let the stark face of misery hide itself, let want not 
make moan in our hearing do we not all say ? What have 
we to do with pain and sorrow not our own ? Away with 
them ! Let us turn the corner and look in another direction. 
Yet methinks we can not always shut out these unsightly 
phantoms that cross us in the common paths. Who has not 
seen, without being able to forget, some tear-stained, anguish- 
stricken face in the crowd, some wan specter, hardly man or 
woman any longer for the wastings of some hunger or dis- 
ease ? Who has not encountered at some time or other a 
pair of human eyes from which looked out an awful, an unut- 
terable despair ? We jostle elbows and pass by, but the look 
haunts us for days, and will not vanish altogether. Did some 
angel of pity meet these unhappy ones ere it was too late, or 


6o 


disarmed: 


did the gulf of misery swallow them up ? We shall never 
know. 

“ Mind, Valerian,” Miss Hermitage would often say to 
her steward, “ no niggardliness to the poor. There are more 
sham beggars than true ones, I have no doubt. That is not 
your concern. In relieving all I relieve my conscience.” 

This easy-going philanthropy, as she called it, settled un- 
comfortable self-questionings; but whilst Valerian was bid- 
den to lavish money on the suffering and the needy, he was 
also enjoined to keep them out of her sight. 

“ It is all very well for poor people to sympathize with 
one another,” she said. “ They have nothing else but good 
wishes to give. Why should I allow my feelings to be har- 
rowed up when I can give a guinea instead It is much 
more to the purpose than floods of tears, I am sure.” 

What, therefore, with bringing light-hearted, prosperous 
guests to Miss Hermitage’s threshold and keeping the dis- 
mal away. Valerian and Arthura had not a fraction of time 
left for love-making. Even our most trustworthy friends, 
those who are as the apple of our eye, will sometimes fall 
ill, grow low-spirited, marry, or die — all social sins of the 
first magnitude in Miss Hermitage’s eyes. People must be 
ailing at times, certainly ; must have troubles ; must pair off ; 
must make an end. But they were bound to perform these 
duties amusingly, or at least agreeably, and with due regard 
to the feelings of others. 

“ Poor dear Constantine,” she said, regretfully, on the eve 
of quitting Paris. “I am sorry, after all, that we did not 
bring him. He would have greatly enjoyed himself. But at 
his age who can tell what may happen ? and with the best in- 
tentions in the world he might have died in the house. No ; 
we must all think of ourselves in this world. Life is too 
short to think of other people.” 

If the mazy whirl of Paris and London were acceptable, 
no less so the cool retreat on the banks of the Thames whith- 
er Miss Hermitage resorted for rustic pleasures. 

“ A pleasing land of drowsy-head ” it was, from which Va- 
lerian was bound to keep away tediousness. Miss Hermi- 
tage had a passion for animals, but it fared the same with 
them as with human beings. The slow, pensive dog must 
not be tolerated. The cat less given to purring than it ought 
had no place on her window-sill. Even the cocks and hens 
must be knowing, and the pig must have esprit. She had 
rather a fancy for plain homely farm-yard creatures ; they re- 


D IS A MED. 


6i 


minded her of her childhood. But good parts she would 
have at any price in both man and beast ; and as wit and 
spirit may be hired, if not bought, what could Valerian do 
but go to the proper market ? Nevertheless, he must be ac- 
credited with the inventiveness of Scheherezade or Haroun- 
al-Raschid’s court jester. His position, indeed, was much 
like theirs, and it is wonderful to reflect how most people’s 
wits would be sharpened under the same circumstances. 
Death by the sword or belaboring with a bag of stones unless 
you begin to be entertaining this very minute ! 

Is there a dolt who would not straightway sparkle like rare 
Ben Jonson himself under the threat.? And perhaps some 
of us would run the risk of the penalty for the sake of being 
thus translated. To wake up and find one’s self famous were 
a faint emotion compared with that of waking up and finding 
one’s self a wit after having been a dunderhead for years. 

It is easy to be light-hearted in summer-time ; even an un- 
quiet conscience may be lulled to sleep by rose-laden breezes 
and the soft stirring of green leaves above our bare heads, 
and Arthura caught the spirit of her patroness’s Castle of- In- 
dolence. Valerian managed things so beautifully that there 
was no need to quarrel with him any more. Miss Hermitage 
had entertainment enough without. And so long as they 
were not forced to quarrel, Arthura could do without love- 
making. Valerian dared not be more than courteous; he 
even feigned little flirtations with one or , two of the pretty 
girls who looked as if they had walked out of Watteau’s 
picture on to Miss Hermitage’s lawn. But once perhaps in 
a week the lovers would find time for a word. 

“ I have got a fortnight’s holiday for you ; you are to go 
home next week,” said Valerian one day when the pair were 
absolutely alone. Miss Hermitage and Colette drowsing, as 
was, their wont aher lunch, the servants amusing themselves 
with hay-making in sight of the house, hardly a creature with- 
in. 

Arthura’s eyes brimmed over with tears of joy. A whole 
fortnight, and so soon ! It seemed too good to be true. 

“ If you take your step-mother and the children to Mar- 
gate, may I run down to see you ? ” asked the radiant lover. 

Beauty is doubly beautiful in summer-time, when dress is 
worn for grace, and not for a defense against the cold. 

Arthura’s was no shy, artless loveliness, looking its best in 
innocent white muslin and blue waist-ribbon. She must be 
sumptuous even in summer-time, and her fine eyes and rich 


62 


disarmed: 


complexion were never seen to better advantage than now. 
The color and texture of her dress, wine-red, soft, with creamy 
ground, had metamorphosed her into a gorgeous flower. If 
the girl’s eyes became moist with joy. Valerian’s beamed with 
lover-like pride and admiration. 

“ You beautiful thing ! ” he said, standing back to gaze on 
the picture. “ You animated Gladiola ! Where do you get 
these astounding dresses from? Yesterday your gown was 
the color of a peony, to-day silky white dashed with purple ! ” 

“ It pleases Miss Hermitage to see me flne as a peacock,” 
Arthura answered, carelessly. “And I have a passion for 
gorgeous colors myself. They put me in spirits, like military 
music.” 

“ Well, you shall never be out of spirits,” laughed Valerian. 
“ There are plenty of beautiful gowns now to be had for 
money. Although,” he added, quite intoxicated by the daz- 
zling apparition before him, “ you would look just as well in 
a brown holland pinafore over bombazine, which is what you 
will have to wear when we are married^’ 

“ Dear Valerian,” she said, her sportive mood vanished, all 
the pure, fond, girlish devotion of her heart for once on her 
lips and in her eyes, “ do you love me ? Will you love me 
always ? ” 

The woman’s question answered in the man’s way. “ Al- 
ways ? As if it could be otherwise than always ! ” and he 
raised a fold of the superb gown to his lips- and kissed it pas- 
sionately. Arthura, holding him off at arm’s length by the 
hands, looked info his eyes as if to read his very soul. 

“ Are men ever constant ? ” she asked, half in sport, half 
in earnest. 

“ Wait and see, Santa Thomasina,” was the confident an- 
swer. 

It was a rare moment for both. They seemed once more 
in France, free to love, free to dream blissful dreams, to be 
happy. There was such a rapturousness in the air, rose- 
scented air wafting crimson velvety petals upon the lovers as 
they stood by the open window, such a burden of love in the 
songs of the little lazy birdsj such deep unspoken content- 
ment in the hum of the bees and murmur of insects. 

And the voiceless flower world ? Was there no joy, no 
sympathy there as one glowing rose-leaf after another nestled 
to Arthura’s bosom, like little Loves seeking a home ? It 
seemed as if it might be so to the lovers, neither wiser nor 
more foolish in their bliss than any other pair. 


disai^jmed: 


63 


Anyhow, an hour of love with all its fair promises was 
vouchsafed to this sweet trusting Arthura. Had ever any 
woman more ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 

It is quite possible to be too happy, and Arthura was now 
in such a case. She had found a little lodging which Steppie 
declared “ was really the next best thing to being in heaven.’’ 

She had nothing to do, and felt as if she never should have 
anything to do again ; fourteen days, two clear weeks, a 
whole fortnight, seemed an unending portion of felicity. 
Time might be really squandered under such circumstances, 
the clock disregarded, enjoyment sipped, ecstasy taken in 
homoeopathic doses. 

“ Too delightful,” sighed Steppie. “ I really could be quite 
happy if it were not for the thought of being so miserable to- 
morrow.” 

“ Why to-morrow ? Are you positive that Ben] amine will 
be drowned to-morrow ? ” asked Arthura, with eyes wide open. 

“ Arthura, how can you jest at serious things } But you 
know we can never expect to be happy for two days running.” 

“ We must keep our eyes open, then, and see that the mis- 
fortune comes,” Arthura said, with much gravity. “ Baby 
must swallow a penny, Walter get bitten by an octopus in the 
sea, you or I set fire to ourselves.” 

“ Ah ! you would not make light of misfortunes if you had 
had as many as I have,” sighed Steppie. 

“ The more we have, the lighter we must make of them,” was 
the cheerful answer. 

“We should all do that if we understood our duty, of 
course,” replied Steppie, still pensive. “ I suppose troubles 
are sent on purpose.” 

“Well, I shall certainly have to do myself some bodily 
harm, then,” Arthura added. “ Would you rather have me 
break an arm, or sprain an ankle "i No, dear little mamma,” 
said the girl, throwing her arms round her young stepmother’s 
neck, and kissing her fondly. “ We will be happy whilst we 
may, and only miserable when we must. So now let us run 
about with the children.” 

Never was such a place for running about. It seemed the 
business of life, and the propensity was encouraged by the 


64 


disarmed: 


absence of barriers and boundary marks. A stranger might 
have imagined himself thrown among a set of Christian Com- 
munists, so entirely did the earth and its first-fruits seem 
common property. The cattle unconcernedly walked in pro- 
cession from one open pasture to another, the very hens, with 
that abuse of liberty apt to creep into socialist communities, 
strayed from the wide walks allotted them into neighboring 
precincts, whilst the pigs shamelessly and unblushingly 
roamed about as if every inch of soil belonged to them. Ar- 
thura had discovered one of the few spots in our dear native 
land as yet unvisited by the world. It was a little rustic 
hamlet standing above the fair open reaches dividing the Sus- 
sex downs from the sea, a veritable bower of greenery be- 
tween the billowy sand-hills and the level lines of marsh and 
shore, now all gold green and silver sheen, beyond a thread 
of turquoise, for the sea was in sight. Linnets’ Mill the 
place was called, and indeed “ the lintwhites sing in chorus ” 
there, and many another bird besides. 

Round the windmill crowning the hamlet were open breezy 
spaces and little coppices, with wonderfully gorgeous cottage 
gardens shyly hidden behind tangled hedges. Half-way be- 
tween the mill and the shore rose the hoary ruins of the 
ancient Norman fortress, now garlanded, as if in token of 
reconciliation, with the ripe gold of the English wall-flower. 
Then you came to the smooth sands and the rippling little 
waves, and — miracle of miracles ! — the great yellow sea-pop- 
pies. 

How happy they were ! Heavens ! how happy they were ! 
Even Steppie was cheerful : and let none blame her pensive- 
ness too harshly. She was not magnanimous, but she pos- 
sessed the bread-and-butter virtues. She filled her children’s 
minds with artless piety ; she took everybody to be better 
than herself, which is already a step upward ; and all her 
ways were ways of prettiness and grace, a great quality in a 
woman. 

“ If I were only not quite useless in the world,” she sighed 
to Arthura. “That is my grievance. I am of no earthly 
use to anybody.” 

“ But no one would find it out unless you told them,” Ar- 
thura said. 

“ Why, would not you find it out ? ” asked Steppie, open- 
ing her gentle blue eyes. 

“ No, I am sure I should never have dreamed of such a 
thing,” was the ready and comfortable reply. “ Besides, it 


D/SAAMA'D." 


65 


is not true. What would the children do without you to take 
care of them ? ” 

“ I have often wished that I had never been born, and then, 
you see, the poor children would never have been born either.” 

“ No, I do not see it, little mamma,” Arthura made reply. 
“ If you had never been born here, the chances are that 
you would have come into existence on the planet Jupiter, 
where the day is as long as our year, and the year three 
times twelve months or more. You would not have liked that.” 

“ Must I have been born, then, anyhow ? ” asked Steppie, 
looking aghast. 

“ I suppose so, since here you are.” 

“ Steppie pondered. “ I wish I understood things,” she 
said. 

“ But nobody really understands anything, so you are as 
well off as Sir Isaac Newton,” was the reply. 

“ I wish I understood the purpose of my own existence, I 
mean,” continued poor Steppie. “ Why was ever a woman 
born to scream at a mouse } ” 

“ If you scream at a mouse, it is because you have nothing 
better to do, not because you were predestined to scream,” 
replied Arthura. 

“ You have always an answer for everything. Well, what 
I could be predestined for I can not conceive.” 

“Things hang together,” again Arthura made ready an- 
swer. “ It does not do to be too inquiring. You are Steppie, 
and I am Arthura, and that is all we shall ever know about 
the matter.” 

With such talk as this, the pair would beguile the mo- 
ments whilst the children sported like little Loves in the 
warm still water, or gathered on the rocks. For the most 
part, however, they kept together, Walter hardly bearing to 
quit Arthura’s side. The boy’s devotion to his step-sister 
was one of those beautiful passions of childhood akin to the 
blind devotion of animals to their master, yet not flawless 
like these. Cling to us, love us, as they may, it is children 
who first remind us of the instability of human affection. 

“ My own, own Arthura,” said Walter one day, as he 
watched a distant sail, “ do you know what I am thinking 
of > ” 

“ We were both thinking of the same thing, I am sure — of 
being together at Christmas, and how soon Christmas will be 
here.” 

“ No,” continued the boy. “ I was looking at the ship 
5 


66 


DISARjMED. 


yonder, and wondering when I shall have my hearth's desire, 
and be a sailor and see all the countries of the world.” 

Arthura kissed the little eager face, and said nothing. Of 
what use to reproach him? He would not understand. 
Meantime, the too happy days glided by, and no Valerian. 
Arthura was as free from sentimentality as a girl could be ; 
she had already joys enough and to spare ; but his coming 
would have heightened all. And he had said it. He would, 
he must come, were it only for an hour ! 

“ Well,” Steppie said, when the holidays were nearly over, 
“ two days more of happiness, and then everything will be 
worse than ever. I do think we should never lay ourselves 
out for enjoyment. It makes life twice as hard afterward.” 

“No; it really makes life twice as easy,” reasoned Ar- 
thura. “Just think for a moment. If a little bird gets ber- 
ries one winter day, he will not die of starvation although not 
a berry he’ll get next day. To-day’s feast enables us to bear 
up against to-morrow’s starvation.” 

“ Yes, I must bear up. That is the word. If I could only 
bear up ! ” said Steppie. 

“ But there is nothing for you to bear up against as yet,” 
Arthura answered, gayly. “ It is sheer fancy about being 
unhappy. You are in reality as happy as possible.” 

“ Oh, Arthura ! ” 

“ If you were unhappy, you would soqn find out the differ- 
ence. I should never come near you, to begin with.” 

“ Would you be so unkind ? ” asked Steppie, with tears in 
her eyes. 

“ It would be my duty. Unhappy people — I mean those 
who make themselves unhappy about nothing at all — should 
be avoided like lepers. They ought to have their meals set 
down on the threshold, and sit huddled together in a dark 
corner at church.” 

“ I am sure I hope I shall never be avoided like a leper,” 
sighed Steppie. 

“ Then you must wear a little looking-glass tied round your 
neck, as some people wear muffs, and every ten minutes you 
must satisfy yourself that you are not looking glum. Low 
spirits may be cured that way.” 

“ May they re. lly ? Ah, you make fun of me,” poor Step- 
pie sai4 whereupon Arthura laughingly kissed her a dozen 
times. 

Steppie ’s real name was the pretty but now old-fashioned 
Emma, and her patronymic, with peculiar appropriateness. 


disarmj^d: 


67 


Sadgrove. How well certain names fasten themselves to cer- 
tain individuals, as if singled out by especial fitness to belong 
to them ! 

Why, for instance, should this melancholious little person- 
age more than any other happen to be born with the name 
of Sadgrove ? Marriage had mended matters so far that she 
was no longer called Sadgrove, but Edgar, a good old Saxon 
name, and worthily mated with Emma. Yet Sadgrove nature 
had christened . her, and Sadgrove she remained. Her old 
school-fellows persisted in using her maiden name. She 
signed herself Sadgrove as well as Edgar, evidently loath to 
part with a piece of symbolism so appropriate. 

The innocent, rustic hours ! How they flew by ! To the 
little town-bred children it seemed a year since they left 
home, yet when the moment of departure was at hand, the 
year had vanished like a cloud. They were to return to Lon- 
don next day, and Linnets’ Mill, with its wide fair heavens 
and green happy earth, would be shut from their gaze like a 
fairy scene on which the curtain has fallen. And still no 
Valerian ! Instead, a fond caressing love-letter. Stephana 
had come, he wrote, and Miss Hermitage wanted him. 

Arthura resigned herself, knowing well that her mistress, 
with all her off-hand kindnesses, was not to be moved where 
her own pleasure was concerned. She relied on Valerik as 
she relied on these fond clinging things around her. 

Was she not his as well as theirs, and did he not love her 
before anything in the wide world So she kept up every- 
body’s spirits to the last, and even Steppie shed no tears at 
the leave-taking. 

“ After all,” she moralized whilst they waited for the train, 
“ how much worse everything might have turned out ! Not 
one of us poisoned by mushrooms, or even tossed by an in- 
furiated bull. I am sure Providence has watched over us 
wonderfully so far.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

When the little company by the sea had broken up in May, 
the blind story-teller followed Stephana to London, neither 
of them bent on heedless quests, we may be sure. The gods, 
says the Greek poet, bring like to like ; and, do what they 
might, these kindred souls could not remain long apart. Just 
as evil finds out evil in order to work its dark purpose, so do 


68 


DISARMED, 


finer spirits consort together for good. The blind man must 
do something with his life, and there was Stephana ready to 
help him or any other human thing in spiritual need. 

“ It was kind of you to come and see me,” she said. “ I 
feel lonely in London.” 

“You lonely anywhere ? When mortal friends stay away, 
have you not unearthly visitants,” he replied, “strange sweet 
voices unheard by others, ineffable visions not granted to 
common eyes ? You surely are never solitary.” 

He felt the smile he could not see. Stephana made soft 
reply. Her voice was music always. 

“ Dear friend, let me disabuse your mind, for once and for 
all, concerning what you are pleased to call my supernatural 
powers. Do I hear inner voices ? Do things unseen at 
times become plain to me ? Am I surrounded by subtle in- 
fluences that lead me whither I should not otherwise go, and 
force me into deeds against my will ? Yes, and what is all 
this but to say that I am more sensitive than my fellows, more 
alive to the spiritual world so near us all, yet hidden from 
most ? For what are we ourselves but spirits, only the fleshly 
clog drags to earth, and the thick clay shrouds the flames. I 
liken my own gifts, humbly enough. Heaven knows, to those 
flasliQ^ of intellectual light that have revealed hidden knowl- 
edge to men. May the renot well be — we have seen, indeed, 
that there are — spiritual endowments of the same force by 
which moral darkness has also been illuminated ? I am weak, 
only herein strong.” 

“ Most beautifully have you spoken so far, dearest lady. 
But go on. There is more behind.” 

“ I may, after all, be only magnifying the power of con- 
science, exaggerating the faculty of conjuring up things un- 
seen,” Stephana went on, “ but I have always seemed to be 
illuminated, then impelled, guided to a certain end. And no 
matter the resistance offered, either by the world or even my 
own inclinations, when once the vision has shone upon me, 
and the voice made itself heard within, I obey. I am no 
longer a personality, but an instrument.” 

“ This consciousness should make you happy,” said the 
eager, pensive listener. 

“ No,” added Stephana, eager also. “ We need no such 
inner promptings to be happy. Happiness has but to beckon, 
and the weakest of purpose will follow. I am impelled to 
tread hard, thorny ways, leaving the smooth for others.” 

“ Do, then, these mysterious calls interfere with your own 


disarmed:' 


69 


life ? Have they brought you bale instead of blessing ? ” 
asked her listener* 

Stephana paused. When she spoke her voice was low and 
full of tenderness. 

“ I should be able to say anything to you, my most faithful 
friend,” she said — “ you who have given me your best affec- 
tion. Yes, at the risk of causing pain, I will speak out. 
Could I, then, shut my conscience to the voices within, and 
become blind to the revelations that are plainer to me than 
the things passing under my eyes, I should dare to be happy 
in my own way.” For a moment tears stopped her utterance ; 
then she added, in gentlest tones : “ Which is your way 

also. 1 would be your wife.” 

The blind man flushed painfully, and an eager word rose 
to his lips, but it was checked before utterance. He could 
only listen in trembling hushed expectation. 

“ Do not misunderstand me, my friend,” continued Ste- 
phana. “ As warm a friendship — I may say affection — as 1 
feel for any human being, I could give you, but no deeper 
feeling.” 

“ I know, I understand. Your love was long ago given to 
another.” 

“ Love ! love ! ” said Stephana, with intense bitterness. 
“ Why is this word perpetually on our lips, when the thing it- 
self is a dream, a chimera ? But you shall know how it is 
with me. I did marry because I believed in love — ^who could 
otherwise set seal to such a bond ? And now ” — she flushed 
also, and faltered as she got out the words — “ I shall perhaps 
marry again, just because I believe in love no longer, but in 
something higher, which is duty.” 

Her listener sank back in his chair, white and strengthless, 
as if stricken with a blow. Pale also, but quite calm, Ste- 
phana went on. 

“ I must obey my destiny, and what is destiny but duty ? ” 
she said, unconsciously repeating the words of a great poet. 
“ It is all very sad and strange, this being led away from the 
life I could love and cling to, and made to embrace, against 
my inclinations and existence, the very opposite I should 
choose. I am going to marry my cousin Valerian.” 

“The worldling Valerian ! the matchlessly expedient Va- 
lerian ! You can not marry him,” cried the blind man, pas- 
sionately and indignantly. “ He has many excellent qualities, 
I know, but not one to set him on your level.” 

“ You shall learn why it must be so,” Stephana went on, 


7<5 


D IS armed:' 


sorrowfully, yet with quiet resolution. “ And to make things 
clear to you I must intrust you with a bit of our family his- 
tory. We are close friends, are we not My secrets are 
yours ? ” 

“ Till the last moment of my life,” was the fervent answer, 
whilst the speaker gently raised the lady’s hand to his lips. 

“You should know, then,” Stephana continued, faintly 
smiling, “ that Valerian possesses the inestimable virtue of 
being a victim, a scapegoat. In his person he is a living wit- 
ness of sin, silent, unpunished, unvindicable sin. He owes his 
birth to some coward of our blood who refused to give him 
a name.” 

“ I know — I have heard the story,” said the blind man, 
with a touch of impatience. “ But you will never make a 
martyr of Valerian.” 

“ Is not that man or woman a martyr who owes even the 
means of existence to stray benevolence ? Valerian’s history 
needs no flourishes. I will only tell you the bare facts in a 
word or two. The father, then, of my second cousin Chris- 
tina — Christina the millionaire, the mundane — had only one 
son, who all his life long was expected to make a fine match, 
as the phrase goes. He died at fifty, a bachelor and a good- 
for-nothing, and so the great fortune came to his sister on 
the father’s death. But there are first cousins of Christina’s, 
sons of her father’s brothers, as the law goes, next of kin. 
Valerian being nobody’s kin. Now Christina’s brother de- 
clared on his dying bed that he left no child, or otherwise 
the old man, their father, would have adopted him. Of the 
three cousins I speak of one has sons born in wedlock, the 
second daughters only, and neither of the two would ever 
claim the boy.” 

“ Who can say that he is of your blood at all ? ” 

“ Of that there is no doubt,” Stephana went on with more 
and more emphasis, bending her whole mind to the convic- 
tion of her prejudiced listener. “ Could you see him, you 
would need no other proof. A Hermitage, a Gossip (our 
two family names), to the finger-tips. Let me go on, how- 
ever. There was the third brother, of whom little is known, 
who spent his life in wandering, and died in foreign parts. 
This man, the most amiable and gifted of the family, must 
have been Valerian’s father, and so my cousin Constantine 
believes. How the child was found by Christina and her 
friend Colette you may have heard. He had been brought 
to the house, none knew how or by whom, and was discov- 


D/SAA^MEDr 


71 


ered in my uncle’s room, with a note sewed up in his clothes 
declaring his name, no more.’’ 

The pale sad listener shook his head. “ All this may be 
— is, since you say so. But where the argument for such a 
sacrifice on your part, such royal cargo to the too fortunate 
Valerian ? Young, accomplished, self-confident, backed up 
by Miss Hermitage’s fortune, he is already happy beyond 
most.” 

“Oh,” cried Stephana, eagerly, almost passionately, “why 
must that word be ever and ever on our lips ? It is not Va- 
lerian’s happiness I am thinking of. Valerian does not need 
me, I know, yet duty forces me across his path. I must be 
his good angel against my will. For you already divine it,” 
she added, growing earnest, pathetic — everything by turns 
that could win her listener over to her own way of seeing 
things. “ I am under a spell here. I can not go backward or 
turn to the right or the left. It was Valerian who brought me 
from Rome, Valerian who leads me onward now. I wish I 
could make you understand. Were you a woman and Va- 
lerian your kinsman, yet an outcast, a pariah, disowned by 
reason of others’ sin, and those our kinsfolk, I think you 
would feel the same generous impulse to befriend him too, al- 
though it is more than an impulse with me. Just after that 
strange summons you know of — ” 

“ Ah, the Roman story. Would I might hear that from 
your own lips ! ” 

“Just after the strange summons, then (the story do not 
ask), I had a dream — a vision I must call it, for no common 
dream it could be — a vision, then, so sweet, so solemn, so beau- 
tiful, that I can hardly put it into words. I had been ponder- 
ing one day on my own career, which I felt had to be begun 
anew, shedding also a few tears over the brief disillusion that 
love and marriage had brought, asking myself piteously and 
painfully whither should duty lead, when on a sudden I was 
aware of a wondrous apparition. The twilight chamber be- 
came luminous with silvery light, and in the midst, so near to 
me that I could have touched his shining garment with my 
hand, stood an awful and lovely form. Nothing I had ever 
beheld in living human shape or idealized in art was half so 
radiant, so divinely fair, as this figure, clothed angelwise with 
pearly wings, and having an aureole of pale gold round the 
stately head. A smile, serene, ineffable, played on the beau- 
teous lips, but in the steady gaze of the calm clear eyes and 
on the broad starry forehead I read such inevitable decree. 


72 


^^DiSAKMEnr 


such unswerving doom, that I trembled. ‘ Speak,’ I prayed. 
‘ O heavenly monitor, be your errand of retribution or sacri- 
fice, you have but to reveal it, and I obey ! ’ Not a word, how- 
ever, passed the lips of the phantom — eidolon — I know not 
what to call it ; but as I waited thus, prayerful and expectant, 
I saw that he held an open scroll in his hands, and the mean- 
ing of every sign and word flashed upon me. It was a piece 
of emblazonry, wherein I discerned, one after another, the 
proud scutcheons of my race, with the names of those who 
had borne them, down to my own generation ; but the last 
name of all stood bare and apart. And it was the name of 
Valerian.” 

For a moment Stephana paused. Thrilling with the pas- 
sion of her story, she now went on : 

“ A minute more, and the dream had faded. I was again 
alone, but with new, strange thoughts crowding in my mind. 
Valerian, then, was my duty, my future, my destiny. But af- 
ter what fashion ? What was the sin of Valerian’s progenitor 
to me ? How should this especial retribution fall on myself ? 
During painful days and nights I brooded over the mystery 
till all became plain and unmistakable to my mind. Vale- 
rian had suffered shameful wrong, and there was none to 
make reparation but me. I was in my own person bound to 
atone for the wrong committed by one of my blood and 
name. Nor did my responsibility end here. As I reflected 
on all the circumstances bound up with Valerian’s story and 
my own, I saw how one moral obligation but entailed an- 
other, till my duty toward Valerian became my duty toward 
God and the world.” 

How sadly listened the blind lover to all this, every word, 
every syllable, a sentence to his hopes ! But hear to the end 
he must. 

“You may not perhaps realize,” resumed Stephana, “ why 
the fact of Valerian becoming my heir and Christina’s should 
transform him into a power for good or evil. Think of the 
moral lever that a vast fortune must ever be, and never so 
much so as in these days. I can not put this tremendous en- 
gine into his hands and abandon him. He must be twofold 
my own creation. First, I set him among the lords of the 
earth; next, to give him a lordly soul. The heir of my 
worldly splendor must also be the inheritor of my aspirations.” 

“That Valerian will never be,” retorted the listener, 
bitterly. 

“You have yet more to hear ; I shall convince you before 


DISARMED^ 


73 


I have done,” Stephana said, using a deeper persuasiveness 
and a more insinuating force. “ For what are these subtle 
powers with which my friends accredit me 1 The plain mean- 
ing of such words is that I can in a very unusual degree fas- 
cinate people, bend them to a purpose in direct opposition to 
their own ; but never to personal ends, mind. No element 
of my own individuality can enter into these influences. 
Swayed by a secret force stronger than any feeling, whether 
of love or joy, pity or sorrow, I move blindly, and am in- 
deed blind as to the portion in store for myself. I can work 
no evil, only good, to any human being. Over my own des- 
tiny I have no power.” 

“ But think for a moment, my own friend, this Valerian — ” 

“ I know what you would say,” interrupted Stephana, ea- 
gerly. “ It is an earthen vessel. No flame of the spirit burns 
divinely through. I feel, I acknowledge it. Yet I must go 
on ; if my own peace is to be sacrificed, I must obey. And 
reflect,” she cried, a fine blush overspreading her pale feat- 
ures, and a tremor of reined-in enthusiasm swaying her 
voice; “will it not be a matchless piece of retribution, a 
superb ending to a sordid family story ? The accumulated 
hoardings of generations, the spoils of worldling upon world- 
ling, turned to noble uses in the hands of the outcast, 
the family honor vindicated by the disowned ! Yes,” 
she added, for a moment letting her hand rest on his, letting 
him feel the tears he could not see, “ you who are my friend 
indeed, to whom I can thus unveil my inmost thoughts, you 
can not, you dare not, bid me draw back. The inner voice, 
the unspoken mandate, who may disobey t ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

After that confidence the friends still saw each other al- 
most daily ; for what so often brings like to like as common 
service for the higher good 1 London was now empty, as 
the phrase goes. August had come, and a sulphurous pall 
wrapped palace and Mansard, garden and river. Not a 
zephyr breathed freshly from any quarter of heaven, not a 
flower in blow but drooped under a pallid sun. Summer was 
there, but summer without sweetness, no verdurous space, no 
garden fragrance, no dewy shadows. Instead, languor and 


74 


DISARMEOr 


heaviness, gloom and disease, where joy and deliciousness 
should be. 

Joy and deliciousness were showered down abundantly on 
the fair face of the earth just then, but not on the city of 
four millions. Excessive heat and drought had induced one 
of those epidemics which occur from time to time as if to 
shake the comfortable faith in human adequacy. Skill and 
science seemed set at naught, and the dreaded disease that 
at first was “ as a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand ” as- 
sumed by degrees stupendous and awful proportions, till it 
brooded, a doom and a portent, over the wide world of Lon- 
don. Now at first sight it would seem madness for two peo- 
ple to stay on calmly in a panic-stricken, pestilence place, 
when they might have betaken themselves any moment to 
Edens of freshness and repose. Men and women must die. 
What business had they with these obscure victims of a 
scourge’ that had mercy in it, since it decimated the helpless, 
the starving, and the needy ? But Stephana and her friend 
thought otherwise ; and whilst frightened parents were hurry- 
ing away their children, after the manner of hens at the ap- 
pearance of a hawk, whilst idlers and pleasure-seekers were 
trying to drive away ennui in more attractive resorts, and 
the more sensitive were shutting their eyes as best they could 
to the disagreeableness of the world generally, Stephana and 
her friend staid on. 

They were, indeed, indispensable to each other ; and had 
not the very opportunity come for which Markham craved ? 
Here, above all, was a crisis when the power he possessed 
and on which he prided himself could be put to really sub- 
lime uses. For the conscientious physician and the priest, 
do what they will, can not always infuse that courage into 
human hearts which is the best guarantee against impending 
ev-il. Soldiers tell us that the ball finds out the craven 
on the battle-field, and certain it is that the stout-hearted 
will often walk unscathed through deadliest infection. 

Whilst Stephana, then, had hired a noble old suburban 
mansion, embowered in greenery, and turned it into a con- 
valescent home for the sick, the blind story-teller was doing 
his best to keep up the spirits of those who were well. 
What may not a word do t and the stimulus of his melodic 
and bright calm eloquence came as a substitute for bracing 
sea-breezes, farm-yard sights and sounds, and all the beauty 
and freshness of the world that is not London. The sea, the 
the moor, the country, were but names to most of his hear- 


disarmed: 


75 


ers, but all could laugh and weep at the stories he told them, 
now bringing fairy-land before wan little Smithfield children, 
now lifting the faint in spirit by some moving episode, now 
holding bereaved ones spell-bound by weird, romantic im- 
provisation. Narrative, parable, allegory, dialogue, one and 
all he used by turns, with themes as various, and words ever 
new. Yet wherein lay the glamours ? Was it the glow of 
feeling, the rapture of fancy, that inthralled his listeners or 
the mere mechanical part of the performance — exquisite 
training of voice, choice phraseology, inimitable elocution ? 
All, yet none of these. The poor, pinched, toiling souls who 
listened to him were enchanted simply because it was the 
first time they had heard a story in their lives. The veil 
was lifted from the ideal world. A blind man had revealed 
to them the existence of things unseen, the quality of human 
life ! 

“Ah,” he said, one evening, when alone with Stephana, af- 
ter an unusually hard day, “ we shall never live such hours 
as these any more. I am yours and you are mine by virtue 
of the mortal woes that have brought us together, but when 
the sun shines out from the clouds you will disappear, per- 
haps never to cross my path again.” 

“ Have no fear on that score,” Stephana said, with gentle 
consolation in her voice. “ You are bound to cross my path 
whenever I have need of you. My wand will never be bro- 
ken.” 

He shook his head. “ You can not, like the loving god, 
be immortal one day and common clay the next. This mar- 
riage must drag you down, whether you will or no.” 

“ Why should we talk of it ? ” cried Stephana, impatiently. 
“ Why must men and women perpetually have love and mar- 
riage on their lips, as if the supreme end and purpose of ex- 
istence were to love, to marry, and to die? You, at least, 
stand on higher ground, and take in wider horizons.” 

“ Pardon me — a thousand times I ask your pardon,” he 
said. “ I will never, never breathe the subject again, if you 
promise me one little thing.” 

“ A promise ? What human being ever kept a promise ? 
And why give it only to break ? ” 

“ No, you would not break it. Listen, then, my own friend, 
and accord the request or no. That is as you please. The 
name of Valerian in conjunction with yours shall never pass 
my lips again. Well, it is a small thing 1 ask. If— if ” — he 
hesitated, painfully, and at last stammered out the words — 


76 


disarmed: 


“ if your magnanimous project, from any unforeseen cause, 
is never carried out, should you reject Valerian, should you 
feel the need of a trusty friend — as a friend only I venture 
to petition — summon me to your side by a wish.” 

“ Why by anything so unsubstantial ? ” smiled Stephana. 
“ Is there not paper and ink, a letter-carrier to boot ? I will 
write to you with my proper hands.” 

“ No, these are common means, and oft-times treacherous 
too ! Yon could hardly write the thought of your mind, and 
it is the secret wish of your inmost heart I would have. No 
more nor less.” 

“ And how could I be sure that it would reach you ? ” asked 
Stephana, still inclined to raillery. “ The winds of heaven 
might blow it in another direction. Forgive me, dear friend : 
I am so sad at heart that I must be merry. These harrow- 
ing scenes I go through day after day, the ache of misery 
ever before me ! Oh ! ask me nothing to-day ; only be kind 
to me, only help me with silent comfort. I must marry Va- 
lerian, but 'it is you I would fain have with me always.” 

Was not such a confession enough to satisfy any lover } 
Markham flushed from cheek to brow, but said no word more. 
The deep, unspoken sadness of Stephana’s soul had pene- 
trated his own. He felt at last lifted, and for a brief moment, 
to those serene spheres in which she lived and moved and 
had her being. He also must brace himself up to an act 
of supreme renunciation. For him also the best part of life 
was to give, asking no reward. 

Stephana needed kindness indeed, and collectedness on her 
friend’s part also, for she was weary in brain and body. A 
strange sight was that devoted pair, she so brave yet tender, 
he helpless, yet so strong, as day after day they set out on 
their errand of mercy. Stephana would inspect one fever- 
stricken court after another, to see that there was no orphan 
unhoused, no dead awaiting its last resting-place, no sick to 
be carried away. And whilst she made her rounds the blind 
man would find an audience, half a dozen children it might 
be, or two or three sad-hearted mothers with babes at their 
breast, or old men past work, past thieving, past beggary 
even ; no matter whom, every one was as ready to listen as he 
to speak. These hollow-eyed, sallow-faced people had no re- 
ligion. What religion could take hold of nature’s starved, 
deadened, materialized by misery ? But if they knew noth- 
ing of Christ and redemption, they could understand the gos- 
pel of magnanimous human kindness. They were aware of 


disanaied: 


77 


that shining thing we call goodness, and it warmed them and 
almost gladdened them, if, indeed, misery can ever be 
glad. 

Nor did Markham’s serviceableness end here. In Ste- 
phana’s mansion, filled now from cellar to attic with guests of 
the humbler sort, he found plenty of occupation. The poor 
valetudinarians lounging under the trees, or looking out for 
the first time in their lives on green lawns set with standard 
roses, sadly needed amusement, and there was the blind story- 
teller with his well-stored memory ever ready. Story after 
story they now heard for the first time. Robinson Crusoe 2i\\di 
Gulliver^ the Rilgrim’s Progress and Boccaccio, were laid un- 
der contribution, to say nothing of Prince Camaralzaman and 
his sixty brothers, Penelope’s web, and last but first, the 
champion of the windmills and knight of Dulcinea del Toboso. 
Wonderful to think how dull the world can be that possesses 
all these ! So August and September passed, and with Octo- 
ber ended their ordeal. Stephana and her companion came 
through it unscathed, so often will it happen that mere valiancy 
keepeth alive. They had be^n as soldiers on a battle-field in 
the thick of the fight, but a thousand bullets had passed them 
by. 

“ This is to be no long parting "i ” Markham asked, after 
a long confabulation on the eve of separation. 

“ True friends are never parted,” Stephana answered, re- 
proachfully. “ We shall often hear from each other ; we shall 
bear each other in mind.” 

She smiled, adding, with a mixture of playfulness and sol- 
emnity : “ I have not forgotten your request. Whenever I 
need you there shall be neither sign nor letter. You will bend 
obsequious to my will.” 

“ Can I do otherwise ? ” he said, raising her hand to his 
lips. “ And as soon as I have fulfilled the mission you have 
just intrusted to me, I may surely seek you unasked and un- 
bidden } ” 

“ Most surely,” Stephana made reply. “ I shall look for 
you with impatience. The matter conned to you is one I 
have most at heart.” 

“ After Valerian.” 

“After Christina and Valerian. I go to them now on a 
double quest, a twofold behest. How strange is life ! ” 

“ Strange and sad, yet sweet,” he said. “ At least it would 
be so were there no Valerian,” 


78 


DISARMED^ 


“ Think no more of him, my friend. Be hapi^y. Be my best 
helper.” 

Thus they parted, not lovers, certes, but how much more 
than friends ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

By the time ripe walnuts were falling from the trees in 
farm-house orchards, and over the brown fallow starlings held 
solemn conclave before flying south. Valerian’s winter cam- 
paign was made out. One sunny sea-side rendezvous of 
winter idlers does as well as another for the purpose of mere 
pastime and epicurean pleasure in life, so he had brought his 
mistress to the same bright town nestled under Southern Eng- 
lish hills. Miss Hermitage pronounced the house perfect, 
and the site bewitching, which it was indeed. Valerian’s 
choice fell this time on a modest mansion perched on a right 
royal hill ; grounds and garden must be of course insignifi- 
cant in a place where every square inch of building land is 
worth its weight in gold to the speculators. But the view 
made up for everything. You might search the kingdom 
through and not find a more engaging prospect or heart-stir- 
ring panorama — fair green hills to the left, to the right, behind 
you, with all the signs of life and movement, church spires, 
garden-embowered villas, sloping meadows on which the cat- 
tle grazed even in the winter, and below the many-sailed, 
sparkling sea. All this and much more was to be seen from 
the house itself, whilst the very sense of altitude gave exhil- 
aration. Were only a common prosaic world below, the ten- 
ant of these breezy heights must all the same have felt a 
strange charm in being thus lifted above it, and enabled to 
contemplate his fellow-creatures, mere pigmies, as they hur- 
ried about the day’s business. But the scene was very gra- 
cious. The happy configuration of the soil, dimpled hills of 
tenderest green, joining hands with stern sweeps of gorse- 
clad moor, is heightened by a contrast with the sea — perpet- 
ual repose wedded to perpetual unrest. Yet the sea has oft- 
times a southern calm and suavity, and even on winter days 
bears on its tranquil bosom many a silvery sailed shallop that 
rests at anchor “ idly as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.” 

Nor is life wholly ordinary and unpicturesque in this sweet 
place- You may still see in its ancient harbor sea-faring men 


disarmed: 


79 


brown as Bedouins, and, like them, not translated into vulgar- 
ity by means of broadcloth and the chimney-pot. Wonderful 
indeed is their gear both on Sundays and working-days : for 
Sundays, provided the wind is not fair, new smocks dyed with 
the Indian catechu till they are bright as virgin copper, for 
plying their craft “ all doth suffer a sea-change.” There are 
to be seen slouched hats, trews, and petticoat — I know not by 
what other name to call them — of oil-skin, shiny and green as 
fishes’ scales, with big Roundhead boots well seasoned by 
salt-water, the whole making up a formidable appearance, as 
of men bent on dire encounter with the elements. When 
there is no wind at all you may see one metamorphosis more. 
This time the fishermen wear tight-fitting garments of dark 
blue, having, with their fancifully shaped shrimping nets, an 
airy poetic appearance, although full of cold reality is the 
shrimper’s life in winter. For these surroundings Miss Her- 
mitage cared little, nor did she at all concern herself with Va- 
lerian’s plans. She felt certain of beil^g amused, and that 
sufficed. Just at present, however, she was enjoying a tem- 
porary lull, a pleasing interlude, devoid of surprise, but full of 
expectation. The curtain would soon be drawn. Meantime 
it was agreeable to sit awhile in subdued light, reining in one’s 
powers of enjoyment. Stephana’s arrival was the first event, 
and Miss Hermitage welcomed her warmly. “ I do not under- 
stand you any more than if you had dropped from the planet 
Jupiter,” she said, the first time they found themselves alone. 
“ But I confess you divert me mightily. You are so unex- 
pected in everything.” 

Stephana smiled one of those reproving little smiles of 
which Miss Hermitage .was so far from divining the import. 
“ And now I am going to be more unexpected than ever. 
Cousin Christina. I have something to tell you. I am going 
to marry Valerian.” 

“Valerian ! — a man without a penny, without any position 
in the world, without — You are joking,” replied Miss Hermi- 
tage. “ And I am sure you never led anyone to suppose that 
you would ever marry again,” she added, in an aggrieved 
tone. “ What can have put such a thing into your head ? ” 
Stephanit was silent. Could she ever make her cousin under- 
stand The task seemed so arduous she knew not how to 
begin. “ At least if you make the mistake of marrying a sec- 
ond time, do it to your own advantage,” Miss Herniitage con- 
tinued. “ You are young, rich, handsome. You might marry 
any one.” 


So 


disarmed: 


Still Stephana held her peace, but Miss Hermitage could 
not misread the look of quiet decision on her face, 

“And Valerian’s marriage would be the greatest possible 
misfortune to me,” she said. “ Have you thought of that ? ” 

“ Yes, I have thought of all these things. But I can not 
do otherwise. I must act up to my conscience.” 

“ Really, Stephana, I am driven to think that you are going 
out of your mind.” 

“ Is conscientious behavior so very rare, then 1 ” laughed 
Stephana, bitterly. “ But hear me out, Christina. I am 
bound to explain my motives to you. I will first say that two 
years ago, when we were at Naples together. Valerian led 
me to believe that only his deplorable position hindered him 
from coming forward. How could he, indeed The thing 
was not possible.” 

“ Well, what has happened to make it so ? I have told 
you all along that I should never make Valerian my heir. A 
fair provision he will* have, and the rest goes to charity,” re- 
torted Miss Hermitage. “If you marry Valerian, you will 
do it with your eyes open.” 

“ But it is just because Valerian is so unfortunate that I 
have determined to do all that in me lies to make repara- 
tion,” Stephana went on, quietly and resignedly, her mind 
made up to force an explanation upon her cousin, no matter 
at what cost to both. “ Do you not see,” she added, with 
almost painful emphasis, “how we are beholden to him by 
very reason of the wrongs he has endured ? ” 

“ I leave him a thousand a year. A man must be an idiot 
to grumble when thus provided for. I do think, my dear 
Stephana, Valerian’s wrongs, as you call them, are for the 
most part imaginary. We have adopted him into the family ; 
the facts of his birth concern nobody.” 

“ At least they concern himself,” Stephana made reply, 
again -with extreme bitterness underlying her sweet voice ; 
“ and because they are shameful they concern all the world.” 
She glowed with passionate indignation as she went on : 
“ Has it never occurred to you that it is just the sins of which 
Valerian is the victim that make our modern civilization a 
mockery and society hideous ? For my part, I ne v^r meet a 
work-house child but I blush for the depravity of my fellows. 
And note the law of retribution ! We bring these unhappy 
beings without conscience into the world, and without con- 
science they turn upon us, vindicating themselves by violence 


DISARMED." 


8i 


and crime. What but chance hindered Valerian from being 
one of these abandoned ones ? ” 

Miss Hermitage looked annoyed, even disturbed, yet un- 
convinced. “ All this may be true,” she said, evidently wish- 
ing to narrow the discussion to a point ; “ but I fail to see 
what they have to do with your proposal to marry him.” 

“Everything,” answered Stephana, quietly. Then with a 
fine blush of enthusiasm she said : “ I am rich, and he has 
nothing. In making over to him my wealth I give him the 
means of combating these social evils. He, the victim of 
shame and sin, shall stand up to plead the cause of others 
similarly ill-used, the apostle of a higher code of morality.” 

Miss Hermitage made sarcastic retort, though she had 
seemed to wince whilst listening. 

“ Throw your money into the sea if you like, my dear 
Stephana. It is your own, and none can say you nay. But, 
depend on it, as long as the world stands there will be vice 
and virtue. It is a law of nature.” 

The glow faded from Stephana’s face, and the tremor of 
fine feeling no longer thrilled her voice, as she replied, in 
her turn biting and sarcastic : “ So I dare say the Pacific 
islanders thought when they made meals of their captives. 
And we are not so far ahead of them as we think.” 

“ Well, we are not cannibals, thank Heaven ! But reflect 
for a moment. You would be very unhappy with Valerian ; 
you two are not in the least suited to each other. Let him 
be. Let everything be. It would be so much better both 
for your health and spirits.” 

Stephana sat still, silent yet remonstrant. Miss Hermitage 
continued, with positively a caressingness in her hard^oice : 
“ I should be really sorry to see you make anotl>er mistake 
— I should indeed. These handsome notions of doing good 
never come to anything, my dear. We must just eat our 
bread and butter from day to day, and leave the world as we 
find it.” 

“ Has Valerian’s fate never troubled you, then, Christina ” 
asked Stephana, looking with indescribable pathos into her 
cousin’s eyes. 

“ You see that I have provided for him ; I could not do 
less,” was the quick, irritated answer. “ But now do let me 
hear what you have been doing in London all this time, and 
the place reeking with fever. I trust you have made your 
will. The life of a rash, impulsive person like yourself is 
not worth an hour’s purchase.” 

6 


82 


DISARMED. 


Thus the conversation ended. Had Stephana succeeded 
in making her motives plain ? Was Christina any nearer 
her inmost thoughts and painful convictions ? She could 
not tell. She only knew that her cousin could never be 
brought to return to the topic, and almost seemed, by such 
avoidance, to shun her company. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Valerian needed all his much-praised tact, collectedness, 
and discrimination to extricate himself from his strange posi- 
tion. Arthurs, his betrothed, his only love, in the house ; Ste- 
phana, his would-be benefactress, close by, and alike the love 
of the one and the magnanimity of the other to be held a 
dead secret, locked up in his own breast as if indeed they 
were not. For if Arthura must not know of Stephana’s be- 
nign intentions, still less must Stephana suspect Arthura’s 
girlish passion. He had kept silence. The time was gone 
by for any gentle unravelment of the threads. Come what 
would, they must now be rudely cut asunder; perhaps to- 
morrow, perhaps next year; no matter when, so long as ii 
was not too late. 

Thus he reasoned, and certainly such a decision was con- 
venient, if hardly high-minded or wise. Nothing could have 
been more uncomfortable to all three than an explanation 
just then. Arthura must straightway forfeit her realty hand- 
some position. Stephana’s generous schemes would be 
nippeoNj;! the bud, and his own worldly prospects suffer ship- 
wreck. M4§s Hermitage would never forgive the deception, 
never, never, never, repeated Valerian to himself, condoning 
one crooked line of conduct by another. And having once 
persuaded himself that it was inevitable, that he was thus 
acting because to act otherwise was impossible, he finally 
took refuge, as most of us do under similar circumstances, 
in a kind of fatality. Unlucky chances were playing with 
him. He was the sport of misadventure. He must for the 
time being just let the Fates do with him as they would. For 
the time being, reasoned Valerian. He nad not the remotest 
idea of playing traitor to his better nature. He loved Arthura 
more dearly than ever, and would not suffer himself to drift 
into infidelity to her. When the crisis came he should give 
up everything for her sake ; but meantime there was no cri- 


disarmed: 


^3 


sis. He could enjoy the suavity of Stephana’s friendship in 
the sweet consciousness of Arthura’s love. And last but not 
least he was not breaking with his best friend, his cousin 
Christina. To give her up, indeed, just now when she so 
urgently needed his services, would be the acme of human 
ingratitude. To have deceived her in the first instance and 
to go on deceiving her now was not only a duty, but a piece 
of downright kindness, Valerian finally said to himself, one 
sophistry, like one tortuous act, being implicitly bound up 
with another. 

And indeed all went very smoothly, Arthura helping him 
with her proud reserve, Stephana no less so with her quiet, 
almost sisterly kindness. Kinder no woman could be to any 
man, but it was the kindness that has no sentiment in it — 
the kindness a lover would have resented. Those steady 
sympathetic glances, those affectionate signs of interest, that 
friendly serviceableness, might mean anything but love. No 
wonder that Arthura was disarmed. It needed no woman’s 
insight, nor man’s either, to see that as far as Valerian was 
concerned Stephana was absolutely insensible to deeper feel- 
ing. She might like him, and that cordially. But she saw 
him come and go with perfect composure. She was the same 
whether he was absent or sitting by her side. Flattering, 
however, as might be this outward calm and fancied security 
to Valerian, Stephana wanted to touch firmer ground. Life 
to her meant no mere living from hand to mouth, no patch- 
work of good intentions and vague purposes, still less a raree- 
show got up for pastime and clapping of the hands. She 
must live consistently, having definite objects before her 
ever, and forcing all minor circumstance and endeavor to one 
central thought. So having come to the conclusion that Va- 
lerian’s future was matter of first concernment, she could not 
let day after day slip idly by. Nor was opportunity wanting. 
They were often thrown together ; it rested with herself whether 
or no they should be alone. She had only to command an 
interview. She preferred to seize upon chance, and one day 
when Valerian called, little prepared for such an invitation, 
she bade him stay. 

“Take a chair,” she said, quite collectedly, almost coldly; 
“ I have something to say to you.” 

No\V Valerian had been quite thrown off his guard by 
Stephana’s cousinly, nay, sisterly behavior for weeks past, 
and almost driven to believe that such blissful uncertainty 
might last forever. There was no reason why Stephana 


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should speak out to-day any more than yesterday, and that 
day twelvemonth any more than to-morrow. When, there- 
fore, quite suddenly and unlooked-for came such a behest, he 
felt too much taken by surprise to frame any resolution at 
all. And again the beguiling sophism came to his aid. He 
was the sport of circumstance. Chance must do with him as 
it would. At first Stephana’s confidences were very re-assur- 
ing. Valerian listened, growing easier in mind and more 
courageous every moment. 

“Valerian,” she began, “ I wish you would tell me in all 
frankness whether you have any sympathy with those causes 
for which our cousin Constantine has battled so stoutly ! Do 
they as much as interest you ? ” 

“ To be perfectly sincere,” he said, speaking readily, and 
without any more secret misgiving, “ I have always regarded 
myself as a nobody, to whom nothing was of any concern, 
except, indeed, the matter of meat, drink, and the where- 
withal to be clothed.” 

They both smiled after friendliest fashion. Such straight- 
forwardness pleased Stephana, and seemed a guarantee of 
higher qualities. 

“ Have you never wished to use such powers as you pos- 
sess on a wider, more ambitious scale You are variously 
gifted. You should make a figure in the world.” 

Valerian laughed sarcastically. “ Some men might do so 
certainly, and under the same conditions. I am afraid that 
I lack magnanimity. What right has society to expect any- 
thing of me ? I say to myself and go my ways unconcerned.” 

“ But hardly content, I am sure,” Stephana said, the under- 
lying bitterness of Valerian’s speech interesting, touching 
her. It was the first time’ that they had ever verged upon a 
confidence. She wanted to probe this nature hitherto deem- 
ed by her — who could say how unjustly ?—unirapressionable 
even to shallowness. 

“ Content is not perhaps the word, but another that may 
shock you more — indifferent. Had I not long ago schooled 
myself into indifference, life must have been intolerable to me, 
Most men similarly placed would have recourse to the same 
philosophy.” 

Stephana glanced at her cousin’s agreeable physiognomy, 
no traces of silent anguish on the smooth brow, no signs of 
inner conflict in the steadily beaming eye. All was careless, 
sunny, youthful ; yet how often may outward aspect betray 
rather than reveal the hidden soul ? None could tell what 


DISARAfED: 


S5 

Valerian might have suffered in secret. Very kindly and in- 
sinuatingly she took up the thread. 

“ I should have felt much for you, but I mistook your 
light-heartedness for insensibility. If, as you say, then, your 
present life were intolerable but for such indifference, why 
not change it ? I own I have blamed your passiveness.” 

“Ambitiousness may be acquired,” Valerian said, deter- 
mined not to pose — at any rate and at all hazards to appear 
no other than he was in Stephana’s eyes. “ It would be hard 
indeed if I could not do better than I am doing now.” 

“ Perhaps better for yourself and your worldly prospects,” 
Stephana made answer, with appreciable disapproval in her 
voice. “ I was hardly thinking of personal objects.” 

“ Hear me ! ” cried Valerian, giving way to a sudden burst 
of genuine feeling. “ I have never for a moment dreamed of 
being satisfied with myself. But there was gratitude binding 
me to Christina, and she will have this kind of service, and 
no other. It is hardly my fault if I am a perpetual master of 
drawing-room ceremonies.” 

“Poor Valerian!” said Stephana, smiling, once more all 
sympathetic concern and benevolence. The herculean tasks 
that fell to his hands daily struck her as new facts of good 
augury. “The skill and energy you put into your present 
career might really accomplish great things,” she went on, 
thoughtfully, “if you would only be guided.” 

Then turning round and looking him straight in the face, 
without a faltering of the sweet voice, a tinge of carnation in 
the pale cheek, she said, quite naturally and calmly : 

“ Will you give me a conscience in exchange for my wealth ? 
Long ago, when we were in Rome, you hinted of your wishes 
to me, and spoke of the differences in our position as a bar- 
rier between us. I see the matter in another light. The sac- 
rifice is to be all on your side. I have nothing but unearned 
worldly fortune to bestow, but you — ” 

She gazed at him steadfastly, and added, with a more subtle 
insinuation in her voice : “ What are you not bidden to give 
up ? Ease, acquired habits of life, and perhaps romance ? 
You must have dreamed, like other men, of winning some 
woman’s love, if not mine, for I can only give you friendship. 
No deeper feeling : I have said it. If, then, a single convic- 
tion causes you to hesitate, be true to it. Be what you will, 
only true to yourself.” 

Thrilled by this noble appeal. Valerian yet listened, unable 
to open his lips, and such outward impassibility might well 


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disarmed: 


deceive a less unsuspecting looker-on than Stephana. For 
she was far as could be from imputing crookedness or cow- 
ardice to this matter-of-fact, commonplace, yet well-meaning 
and much suffering Valerian. It seemed to her only natural 
that having at one time, hopelessly as he thought, aspired to 
her hand, he should be somewhat overcome by the sudden 
realization of his wishes. Silence on his part could mean no 
more nor less than excessive surprise, not without a touch of 
gratitude. And nothing he could say was so becoming and 
convenient as silence. His thanks she did not want, his love- 
making she could not have. They could, must be, only the 
best possible friends. 

And Valerian seemed but to put her thoughts into words 
when at last he got out, hesitatingly enough, “ You are my 
best friend in the wide world ! ” He paused, glanced round 
him nervously, as if he feared that even in Stephana’s boudoir 
might lurk eavesdroppers, then added, “ How can I ever 
thank you ? ” 

Was he on the verge of a confidence ? Had Stephana’s 
singleness of purpose infected him ? He hardly knew ; he 
only felt conscious of a vague feeling akin to remorse, and of 
a fluttering impulse to tell her all- Had she been a common 
woman he would have done so. Stephana’s very noble-mind- 
edness awed while it disturbed him. He felt that already he 
was deserving of her scorn, and her generosity he was unable 
to measure. 

“ It will be my turn to thank if you do all, nay, the half of 
what I would fain impose on you,” she replied, smiling gra- 
ciously. “ Think well before you accept me as your task-mis- 
tress.” 

Then she held out her beautiful hand with such an air of 
queenly condescension and yet womanly affectionateness that 
he could not choose but raise it to his lips. 

So their interview ended. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

For the time being Stephana’s projects were to be matter 
of family talk only, not a hint reaching any one outside the 
circle, excepting Colette. 

“ I never withhold anything from Colley,” Miss Hermitage 
said to Stephana ; “ and she keeps my secrets, like my keys. 


disarmed: 


87 


from the rest of the house.” Then she added, rather mali- 
ciously : “ If once your wild schemes get abroad, there will 
be an end of all my enjoyment. Valerian’s accomplishments 
as a flirt are worth any money to me, but when his fate is 
determined he will become quite uninteresting.” 

‘‘Not to yourself, I hope.?” answered Stephana. 

“ I am no hypocrite. I confess I think you had better leave 
him as he is. He is an admirable man of the world. ’Twill 
be a clumsy job to turn him into anything else.” 

Such sharp little speeches were all Miss Hermitage’s com- 
ments on the subject, and Stephana willingly let it drop. 
Nothing happened from day to day to arouse Arthura’s sus- 
picion, even had she been on the watch. But no tl^ought of 
a lapse, much less of deliberate treachery, on Valerian’s part 
ever crossed the girl’s artless mind. She relied on him, on 
love — but another name for her Valerian — as implicitly as 
she trusted the loving creatures at home. Valerian could no 
more betray her or grow indifferent to her than Steppie and 
Walter, Benjamine and Baby. And was she not more to him 
even than to these ? 

No. Arthura’s secret heaviness of soul and silent tears 
shed in the sanctuary of her chamber were not for Valerian. 
His tenderness, his pride, his chivalrous devotion, seemed 
sweet green resting-places in a turbulent world. What dis- 
quieted her was the daily and hourly necessity for conceal- 
ment. Valerian would sit opposite to her at the dinner-table, 
would give her his arm on the terrace, yet she must not smile 
at him naturally, or utter a single sentiment in harmony with 
her thoughts. The raillery that had been so easy, the feigned 
disaccord of former days, the mock quarrelling, were now 
hateful, even impossible, to her. She could be outwardly 
cold and collected, she could no longer assume wounded self- 
love or coquettish indignation. 

“ Do, my dear, sweet girl, be more like yourself,” Valerian 
would remonstrate. “ I know the ordeal is a hard one, but 
think of me. Is my own task light .? ” 

“I am sure you love me. Valerian. Do you not? ” asked 
the proud girl, bringing her eyes on a level with his own as 
if to look him through and through. 

“ If you are sure of it, why put the question ? ” replied the 
lover, kissing the beautiful eyes. “ But we have only a min- 
ute to ourselves. For my sake — your own Valerian’s sake — 
summon up courage. Be bright, gay, unconcerned.” 

Arthura shook her head sadly. 


88 


DISARMEDr 


“ Where is your high spirit, your self-confidence ? Think, 
my love, of the storm that would break on my head if once 
the truth leaked out.” 

“ Oh, Valerian, we can not always play a part ! Every day 
of double-dealing but makes matters worse for us. Let me 
tell Stephana. She would be our advocate.” 

“ Promise me that you will breathe no word of this to 
Stephana,” was Valerian’s quick, irritated answer. 

“ I made you a promise for once and for all,” the girl said, 
proudly. “ Never fear that I shall break it. Only let me go.” 

“ Will you force me into calling you unreasonable ? ” he 
said, and once more they were for a moment safe from 
observation. He kissed her eyes, not seeing the tears. 
Arthura never let him see her weep. He could not under- 
stand ; he would only chide. And having found that he had 
no sympathy with these misgivings and self-questionings, she 
resolved henceforth to conceal them. Whenever by chance 
they afterward found themselves alone, she was composed, 
unremonstrant, self-centered, the fact of having to hide her 
feelings from her lover making her task doubly hard. Hith- 
erto when by chance they were alone for five minutes his 
smile of encouragement would smooth away care for days to 
come. Forced back upon herself, shut out alike from ruth 
and counsel, no wonder her step lost its elasticity and her 
eye its luster ! Before her mistress and benefactor she still 
kept up a show of gayety, but it was the merest gloss and 
counterfeit only. The young heart was heavy, the high spirit 
drooped. 

The sea consoled her. When a wild wind and a spurting 
rain kept the lazy world within, she would steal out-of-doors 
and hasten down to the shore. The sea has its moods, 
gracious, weird, winsome ; none for an aching human heart 
like its fury. Arthura grew calm and brave listening to these 
thunderous breakers, wave after wave dashing against the 
sea-wall, or, like a column of white flame, leaping it and every- 
other barrier. So lowering the heavens, so blurred the visible 
world that there seemed nothing else for the eye to rest upon 
but the gleaming, glittering spray, white and shining in the 
universal gloom. On days less stormy, when the wind no 
longer thundered, but blew its bugle note clear and shrill as 
the kittiwake’s cry, and the sun shone clear upon a turbulent 
green sea, there would be a matchless spectacle. For of 
every tenth wave — the Roman wave — as the pyramidal 
waters broke upon the shore, the sun made a lovely little 


disarmed:' 


89 


rainbow. One after another might be seen ; a dozen before 
the tide went down. And exquisite was it to see the flakes 
of foam driven hither and thither in company of the sea-birds 
— sprites seemed they, and as much alive as the birds — now 
sparkling for a moment on the brown sands, now vanishing 
over the house-tops, playing their part for a moment on the 
beauteous scene. 

Then there were the quiet days of mist and pearliness, 
when all day long a brooding calm wrapped the devastation 
of yesterday, and these also were good for aching hearts. 
Again and again a mild sun would try to shine out, and at 
last, pensive yet lovely, illumined the far-off sea. No glory 
or warmth elsewhere, only in one direction, and for a brief 
span, a gentle radiance in one spot of the heavens, and a sin- 
gle track of light upon the dull sad ocean. 

The sea, then, consoled Arthura as it has done many 
another, she knew not why. Is it a portent, a prophecy, we 
listen to ? — rebuke or upholding, blessing or malison.? We 
can not understand. We can only hearken and be hushed. 
Ineffable voice, matchless monitor, yestreen a psalmody, to- 
day a clarion blast, music* wonder, and mystery ever ! 

There was only one person as yet who divined that Arthura 
had a care. Stephana’s quick perceptions were not to be de- 
ceived, and she tried to win the girl’s confidence, to insinuate 
herself into her affections — no hard task under other circum- 
stances. From the first Arthura had felt the subtle charm 
of Stephana’s personal influence, and in the early days 
of their acquaintance had yielded to the seduction, but now 
she must do so no longer. From every fresh overture on 
Stephana’s part she drew back more and more reticent and 
undemonstrative. At last Stephana determined to speak 
out. She was Arthura’s senior, her superior also by virtue 
of position : she might well take the initiative. The pair 
happened to be alone one afternoon in Stephana’s own house, 
Arthura having gone thither with a message from Miss Her- 
mitage. The girl delivered it hurriedly, even brusquely ; 
then made for the door. 

“ Nay, stay with me for a little while,” Stephana said, tak- 
ing her visitor’s hand and leading her to an easy-chair. “ It 
is seldom I see you alone now, and for days past I have had 
something on my mind to say to you.” 

Arthura, flushed, impatient, almost irritated, faltered out 
an excuse. She could not stay, she murmured. Another 
time she might be less hurried. Then, unable any longer to 


90 


disarmed: 


confront Stephana’s mild yet inquisitorial gaze, she added, 
with a burst of girlish passion : “ I am not happy ? That is 
what you would say, I know.” 

Stephana made her sit down, and still holding her hand, 
looked at her anxiously. 

“ It is not hard to understand,” blurted out Arthura, torn 
to pieces by inner conflict, wanting yet not daring to divulge 
all, resolved at any cost to herself that Valerian’s secret 
should be kept. “ I am alone here ; every one is kind to 
me, but I am alone.” 

“ And your heart is elsewhere ; you have little brothers 
and sisters } ” said Stephana, brimming over with sweet 
womanly kindness. 

“ I have a home,” was the almost vindictive reply. 

“ You would, of course, be there ; that is simple enough,” 
Stephana said, gently, little dreaming how each benign word 
but made Arthura’s case more desperate. The girl (felt as 
if she must unburden herself, must take counsel of this an- 
gelically kind monitress. Why, oh, why had Valerian bound 
her to a promise so hard to keep ? Once her sorrows wept 
out on Stephana’s bosom, and she felt that she could go on 
fulfilling her daily tasks courageously. 

“ I must stay with Miss Hermitage,” cried Arthura ; “ she 
is generous as a queen. The children depend upon me, and 
I have other claims.” 

“ It is true my cousin is very handsome in all her dealings. 
It might be hard for you to find another avocation so well 
paid. Yet” — Stephana paused and leaning forward, kissed 
the girl’s cheek with an air of sweetest encouragement — “ I 
have often thought how delightful it would be for me to have 
you in London if this intractable cousin would be cozened 
into parting with you. I am rich as well as she. You would 
be near your own people. You could help me in many 
ways.” 

“ I dare not think of it,” the girl said, throwing her arms 
round Stephana’s neck, melted at last to tears that well-nigh 
betrayed her. “ If I might only be near you always, and 
make a friend of you ! But I must not, I dare not ; I am 
bound by a promise.” 

Stephana at once thought of Miss Hermitage and her jeal- 
ous fear of losing Arthura so far back as a year ago. She 
could not press the girl’s confidences ; she could only say lit- 
tle caressing words of cheer and encouragement. 

“ Let us hope that some day my cousin may get tired of 


disarmed: 


91 


you,” she said, playfully. “ And meantime I may surely be 
your friend.” 

Arthura smiled, a sad, unassenting smile. “No,” she 
cried, with sudden passion, “ you must not know, you can not 
understand. Let me go, Stephana. There is wizardry in 
your eyes. If I stay I shall yield to it, and break a solemn 
promise.” 

What could Stephana do but let her go Not a single 
thought of Valerian crossed her mind. Arthura’s secret, as 
she naturally supposed, referred to Miss Hermitage only. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

When we hire wit and esprit into our service we have 
surely as good a right to entertainment as to irreproachable 
dinners from the Cordon Bleu presiding over our kitchen. 
’Tis all in the bond. We pay handsomely, and demand only 
our money’s worth. So reasoned Miss Hermitage, who felt 
no less aggrieved the first time she found Arthura’s conver- 
sation flavorless than if the chef had sent up roast quail with- 
out its orthodox envelope of freslily plucked vine leaf. The 
girl was bound to be gay, piquant, quick at repartee, ready 
with playful sallies. It was incumbent upon her to vanquish 
Valerian in sportive quarrel, to do a little sparring with any 
one else who might be present, above all to be the sprite, the 
mischievous elf, the Puck, of Miss Hermitage’s dressing-room. 
Every night Arthura had assisted at her mistress’s disrobing. 
“ The best part of the day for me,” Miss Hermitage would 
say, for Arthura’s animal spirits and rich vein of fun were 
then at their height. She jested, she mimicked, she took her 
dearest Gossip to task as if it were Steppie herself ; she was 
diverting in a thousand different ways, and simply because 
she could not help it. Miss Hermitage amused her no less 
than she amused Miss Hermitage. This odd love of famil- 
iarity, this relish of satire, even when some foible of her own 
was the object, this predilection for youth and vivacity, were 
all new to the girl, and made the study of Miss Hermitage’s 
character a perpetual enigma. 

For some time Arthura had realized that fictitious gayety 
is but a poor substitute for spontaneous animal spirits, and 
only awaited opportunity to tell the truth, or at least a part 


92 


disarmed: 


of the truth. Was Miss Hermitage beginning to see through 
the veil ? All doubts were soon set at rest. 

“ Arthura,” said Miss Hermitage, coming into her room 
one day, with an irritated almost injured look, “ I want you 
to go and stay with my cousin Constantine for a month — 
will you ? ” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it,” Arthura replied, she not show- 
ing reluctance, Miss Hermitage thought, rather relief. But 
soon follow’ed an expression of dismay. What was such a 
sentence but covert dismissal, and wW was dismissal but 
ruin ? She discerned clearly enough that the visit to Mr. 
Constantine was only a pretext, and that when once she had 
quitted her protector’s roof she should never be invited to re- 
turn to it. Arthura was not slow in reading physiognomies, 
and to-day plainer than any words she read on Miss Hermi- 
tage’s, “You no longer amuse me.” 

“ That is settled, then. He is very lonely in London, and 
sadly needing a reader. Will you go to-day.^ ” 

Again Arthura assented, though a deep blush dyed her 
cheek. Valeriai> was away ! She must go without a word of 
farewell. 

“ It is only a visit, so there is no occasion for packing-up 
and good-byes,” Miss Hermitage went on, in the same irrita- 
ted manner. “ Well, I will go and telegraph to Constantine, 
and meantime you can make your preparations.” 

Thus ended the interview, and Miss Hermitage so con- 
trived matters that there were no other explanations or leave- 
takings. Even Colette had been sent on an errand that 
would detain her till after Arthura’s departure. Valerian away, 
Stephana away ! Such an opportunity might not soon occur 
again, and although Miss Hermitage always carried out her 
intentions, she preferred to do so without remark, much less 
remonstrance. Arthura was not especially wanted just now, 
and she had done Mr. Constantine a good turn. This was 
the only light she should throw on the subject. It was her 
own affair. No one had the slightest ground for making 
comments. Arthura, left to herself, sat for a few minutes 
like one in a dream. She was going, and going where .? In- 
to a world shut off from Valerian’s, a world in which they 
could hold hardly more communication with each other than 
if they were in separate planets. She must never write to 
him, and never see him. If he wrote, indeed, it could only 
be by stealth and in strictest secrecy. She should learn 
nothing of his doings from day to day, and who could tell 


disarmed:^ 


93 

what else might happen still further to divide, perhaps to es- 
trange ? 

Oh ! this hateful crookedness ! Had she only rebelled 
against it from the first ! Then all might have been well, at 
least with Valerian and herself, and what mattered the rest ? 
She could always earn enough to maintain the children, with 
the help of Steppie’s tiny income. Anything, anything in the 
wide world but crookedness ! thought Arthura, dashing away 
a few passionate tears before she put her gowns together. 
Hard as was the service exacted of her by Miss Hermitage, 
it was only herself she reproached now. And Valerian ! on 
him also would inevitably fall a share of the retribution. 

Meantime Miss Hermitage, chuckling over her move, thus 
communicated it to her one confidante in the world. 

“ Arthura was too good to last, as 1 feared. I have sent 
her away.” 

The timid little Frenchwoman looked up, too dismayed to 
speak. 

“ You goose, Colley ! Nothing has happened, of course. 
The girl has been moody of late, and so I have dispatched 
her to Constantine. That is all.” 

Colette still looked the remonstrance she did not speak. 

“ Constantine has been begging me to let him have Ar- 
thura as reader for months to come. He will think I send 
her out of pure generosity. Is it not a prime joke ? On my 
word, Colley, you look as if I had just uttered some abomin- 
able sentiment ! I am only doing two people a good turn. 
It will never enter Constantine’s head that I wanted to get 
rid of Arthura, and for the present I pay her salary all the 
same.” 

“ Why should you want to get rid of her ? ” asked Colette. 

“The fact is she is moody. You know high spirits and 
depression are twins. It is only meek, purring creatures 
like yourself who are the same to-day , to-morrow, and for- 
ever.” 

“ Some little home trouble was at the bottom of it, or the 
poor child may have had an occasional fit of toothache. We 
have all our ailments,” urged Colette. She played the part 
of intercessor now as hopefully as if she had not undergone 
constant checking for fifty years. 

“ What a child you are ! As if, at my time of life, I could 
afford to be depressed by other people’s toothache ! You 
are as innocent as if you had just walked out of Noah’s ark. 

I repeat, I shall deal handsomely by the girl. She is on a 


94 


disarmed: 


visit to Constantine, and we shall see what we can do with 
her next.” 

“ I was fond of that girl,” sighed Colette. 

“ I confess she amused me,” Miss Hermitage said, dryly. 
“ But there was something wrong of late. Perhaps she has 
fallen in love.” 

Colette looked unsuggestive. 

“ Valerian is not handsome, but women find him agreeable. 
She may have liked him at the last. But some day or other 
he is to marry Stephana — I am sure of it — so a love match 
for him is out of the question.” 

“ Might not that be a love match ? ” 

“ My dear Colley, you are innocence itself. Now just 
watch the pair together, Stephana and Valerian. They are 
as indifferent to each other as it is possible for two people 
to be.” 

“ Then they should not marry,” replied Colette, romantic 
as in the days of her girlhood. 

“ That seems to me the very best possible reason for marry- 
ing,” Miss Hermitage made cynical reply. “ They will thus be 
saved from disappointment afterward.” 

“Oh, Christina, why may not men and women sometimes 
love each other with a perfect love, and marriage sometimes 
be happiness unalloyed ? ” 

“ Because no one has set the fashion, I suppose,” retorted 
Miss Hermitage. “ Except in novels. We get plenty of per- 
fection there.” 

“ That is why I adore them,” Colette said, warmly. “ I 
like to think of married' folks living together in utter bliss, 
like John Halifax and Ursula.” 

“ Twaddle-de-dee ! But you’re like the rest of ’em,” Miss 
Hermitage made uncouth reply. “ When will women write, 
not of what might, could, would, or should be, but of what 
Is !” 


CHAPTER XXIH. 

Miss Hermitage was deceiving herself when she fondly im- 
agined that Mr. Constantine would be taken in by her little 
device. Mr. Constantine had never been taken in by a 
woman during his life — a fact that speaks volumes for his 
perspicacity. As he conned the telegram announcing Ar- 


DisAJ^MEnr 


95 


thura’s arrival his face presented a curious study. It was as 
good as reading an old Greek epigram to watch it. 

“ Well, what’s in the wind now ” he soliloquized, replac- 
ing his spectacles. “ The old hussy can not be jealous of 
her pretty handmaid ! But I’ll be civil, of course. Why, 
she must have sent me a third dozen of Madeira this year. 
Heaven bless her ! And as to the girl, I am delighted. The 
old harridan — Lord, have mercy on me ! — can not have 
scratched her pretty eyes out ; and these readers one gets 
through advertisements are all so ugly — so — so unpardon- 
ably ugly ! How many have I had to see } A score, I am 
sure ; and there were not the makings of a comely woman 
among them all, not a pair of eyes worth looking at, not a 
hand or foot worth mentioning, and the rest of a piece. Why 
do ugly women put in advertisements } The Times should 
forbid it, or at least keep a special column for them. Well, 
now for a note to the old heathen, God bless her ! ” 

Accordingly Mr. Constantine sat down and penned the 
following note — a model of the lost art of calligraphy, not a t 
uncrossed, not an i without its dot, every letter formed as 
carefully as if written on parchment to last forever : 

“ Russell Square, Guy Fawkes Day, i8 — . 

“ Kindest, best of Cousins, — Tottering on the verge of 
the grave, perhaps never more to enjoy your bounteous 
hospitality [that will bring me a hamper of game], I sit 
down with trembling fingers to thank you for the last sign of 
kindness I have any right to expect at your nands. [I should 
not be surprised if that brings me a fourth dozen of Ma- 
deira. Nothing makes people feel so amiable to you as the 
prospect of losing you forever.] For you, my dear Chris- 
tina, are yet in store, as I fondly hope and believe, many 
years of health and benevolence. [That will please the old 
pagan, I know.] But the only news you can now expect to 
hear of me is that I have taken leave of the world, and all 
those I cling to so fondly, forever. We have had our little 
squabbles — what relatives have not ? But this dear girl shall 
be, like the Indian boy from Titania to her Oberon, a token 
of final reconcilement. When I am beyond reach of be- 
nignities it will console you to think what a sacrifice you 
made in order to cheer my declining days. [Had she not 
wanted to get rid of Miss Pretty Eyes, I might have cried 
mine out to have her.] But no more. Generosity is ever its 
own reward, and I always said you had a heart of gold. 


96 


D/SARiMED. 


[’Tis of flint, but no matter.] Heaven bless and reward you, 
my dear Christina, is the prayer of your affectionate cousin 
and devoted servant, 

“ Constantine-Gossip-Hermitage.” 

The letter sealed and sent off to the post, Mr. Constantine 
threw himself back in his arm-chair to rest after the exertion. 
After dozing a little, with a smile upon his face, he rang the 
bell. 

“ Are the Pretty Eyes come 1 ” he asked of his housekeeper 
— starchness and primness itself, although accustomed to her 
master’s humor. 

“ The — what, if you please, sir ? ” 

“ My good Bumstead, Miss Hermitage has sent me a reader 
from the country — a young lady, who, if she possesses no 
other qualification in the world, has beautiful eyes. I trust 
they will be a source of gratification to you.” 

“ Rather of sackcloth and potsherds, sir,” Mrs. Bumstead 
made reply. “ What are eyes in woman but a bait for Satan ? ” 

“ Well, you shall gird yourself with sackcloth and sit in 
potsherds, whilst I look at Miss Arthura’s eyes.” 

“ Oh Lord, sir — at your age ! ” 

“ My dear woman, at my age one may do anything. But 
you will make this young lady comfortable, won’t you ? ” 

“ One must do one’s duty by the Rebeccas as well as the 
Leahs, sir.” 

“ Aptly said, my good Bumstead. I hope, however, you do 
not really think the worse of yourself for being comely and 
well-favored. I am sure, now, if I had seen you — well, say 
thirty years ago, I should have kicked Bumstead down-stairs.” 

Mrs. Bumstead blushed, and became amiable in a moment. 
“ Dear sir, how funny you are ! Joking to the last ! But I 
had better go and prepare for the young lady.” 

“ By all means. Dear me ! it will be dull for her, I fear — 
Russell Square in November, after the south and the sea.” 

“ Humph, sir ! Is a girl to be dancing jigs all day just 
because she came into the world with eyes twinkling like ship 
lights ? ” 

“ True ! true ! I wish I could dance a jig with her, never- 
theless ; and I am sure, Bumstead, though I speak hypothet- 
ically, you have a foot and ankle turned for the dance — haven’t 
you, now ? ” 

“ Really, sir,” Mrs. Bumstead simpered — “ how you joke ! 
And at your time of life too ! ” 


DISAIiMED. 


97 


“ A joke is better than a curse, anyhow,” Mr. Constantine 
replied. “ And a neat foot and ankle in a woman is better 
than a virtuous mind.” 

“ Oh, sir ! ” Mrs. Bumstead cried, and forthwith took her 
departure. 

A couple of hours later emerged from the fog and the outer 
gloom a very apparition of sparkling youth and vivacity. — 
Arthura’s self, her old self. Not a cloud upon the frank brqw, 
not a care in the bright eyes. To Arthura, indeed, this dreary,, 
antiquated house in what was yet London two generations ago 
seemed no prison, but a sweet place of liberty. The chains 
had fallen ; her spirit was no longer confined ; she could 
breathe the air of unconstraint and reality. 

“ I am overjoyed to come,” were her .first words. 

“ Come, now,” said the old man, “ no indiscretion, but just 
an inkling of the truth. Were you tired of that — of my cousin, 
or was the old — she tired of you ? ” 

Arthura spoke out for once and for all : . , - 

“I could not amuse her any longer, sir. That is the 
beginning and the end of the matter. But you want no amus- 
ing, I am sure,” she added, perusing him with girlish candor 
and admiration. 

“ That is a very pretty compliment, although not so intended, 
I dare say. But, truth to tell, my dear young lady, I do want 
amusing. A man may replace his twentieth sweetheart. 
What can console him for the loss of his eyesight ” 

“ I will be eyes, ears, everything,” answered Arthura, gayly. 

“ And a memory too, upon occasions. I’ll warrant. Your 
business will be, however, to read to, me. But I am strange 
and fantastical in my habits — a very owl, consorting with 
ghosts and darkness, and only alert when others drowse. Are 
you wedded to midnight sleep, my dear? ” 

I dare say I could sleep as well at mid-day, sir.” 

“ Then I trust that you will not be too much startled by 
my programme. The fact is, my reader’s task begins at mid- 
night, and ends — well, sometimes quickly enough, always be- 
fore the crowing of the cock. Except at that ghostly hour, 
then, you are free. I have a secretary and man of business 
to help me with my correspondence for an hour or two in the 
forenoon. But ’tis only the sweet voice of woman that can 
send me to sleep when once I assume my night-cap.” 

“ And I may do what I like all day ? ” asked Arthura, 
hardly believing in her good fortune. 

“ Preciselv. A friend or two step in for a chat in the afte.r- 
7 


98 


disarmed: 


noon. I can not sit down to a formal dinner table ; and al- 
though, when agreeable to you, I shall like your company 
occasionally in the evening, ’tis not in the bond. Do what 
you please in the daytime, except to practice music and sing- 
ing over my head.” 

“ I neither play nor sing,” said Arthura, modestly. 

“ How I wish I had a thousand pounds to leave you in my 
will ! A girl who has not driven her relations mad by perpet- 
ually strumming the Pathetic Sonata, who has not proved 
herself the Nemesis of her next-door neighbors by trying to 
sing — Give me your hand, my dear ; I love you.” 

“ Should not every girl know these things, sir ? ” asked 
Arthura. 

“ In a more commodious planet, my dear ; not in this. 
We are all too near one another. But now repose yourself 
to-day and to-night, and to-morrow evening at twelve of the 
clock you shall be summoned.” 

“ Indeed, sir — ” 

“ To-morrow,” Mr. Constantine said, waving his small 
white hand, “ with the ghosts, the specters, the wraiths, the 
phantoms, and all the nightly powers that be.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Precisely at twelve of the clock Mrs. Bumstead ushered 
Arthura with due form and ceremony into Mr. Constantine’s 
bed-chamber, there to receive an impression she never for- 
got as long as she lived. If he were marvelous to look at by 
daylight, his complexion then wearing the smoothness and 
luster of polished ivory, how was the effect heightened by the 
dim light of shaded lamps and rich shadows of crimson bed- 
hangings ? Under a spacious canopy lay Mr. Constantine, 
not vulgarized by the orthodox night-cap of our grandfathers, 
but having for head-gear a finely spun shawl or cufiah of 
Oriental silk, twisted round his head turban-wise, and show- 
ing gorgeous interweavings of scarlet and gold. His night- 
gown, if it is permitted to describe such a garment, was no 
less peculiar, having an outer covering of soft Persian silk, 
warm in color as the turban, whilst the lining was of finest 
linen, with elaborately embroidered wrist-bands and collar, 
and underneath this was yet another and a still finer and 


n IS armed: 


99 


softer garment, worn for comfort, and not for grace. Thus 
beautifully appareled, Mr. Constantine might well receive 
midnight visitors without scruple, and being accustomed to 
see one fair reader after another, offered no apology when 
Arthura made her appearance. Her own dress was too strik- 
ing to be passed by without comment. She wore a loose 
gown of crimson satin, wadded after the fashion of the olden 
time — a gown so simple, so stately, and withal so matronly 
that whilst it added indescribably to her beauty, it also lent 
added years and gravity. This sumptuous woman was surely 
no mere girl of character and spirit, but a tragedy queen. 

“ Place yourself quite at your ease,” said Mr. Constantine ; 
“ and — let me see — what can we have to-night ? Read me 
the titles of the books before you, my dear.” 

Arthura read : “ Vathek ; The Bride of Lammermoor ; The 
Mysteries of Paris T 

“Ah,” sighed Mr. Constantine, “would there were a score 
such ! I love a stor}', but I never can find one nowadays. 
Your writers have no imagination. Yet hath this age pro- 
duced one novel. You must know it, my dear — the book 
writ by the parson’s daughter ? ” 

'•'‘Jane Eyre ? ” 

“ You have said it. Now I am no lover of parsons, but I 
am ready to forgive all the pig-headedness of the race, from 
Calvin downward, for the sake of that little witch’s perform- 
ance.” 

“ Oh, why call her a witch, sir ? ” 

“ My dear, ’tis the finest compliment I can pay her. Who 
were the witches and wizards of the Dark Ages but the 
knowing ones, the inventors 1 The parsons burned ’em all, 
and if that little Yorkshire girl had written her book four 
hundred years ago, she would have gone to the stake with the 
rest. Her own father would have set fire to the fagots. 
The first woman who invented a gown was sewed up in it 
and drowned, depend on it, and the first man who baked a 
loaf of bread shut up in his own oven and baked too. No 
wonder we are all so stupid, seeing that we are begotten of 
the ninnies and dunderheads who never invented anything. 
But the reading — well, let us have a chapter of the Mysteries 
of Paris ^ unless you know a good ghost story. Think.” 

Arthura thought. Yes, she knew one or two, she said. 

“ Close the book, then, my dear, and tell me the first. We 
must keep the other choice morsels for to-morrow. When you 
have done the story, you will find my imagination thoroughly 


“ disarmed: 


lOo 

alert ; I shall then require only the marvels knd horrors that 
are dear and familiar. These always soothe me to sleep.” 

Arthura could not resist a smile. 

“You are amused at the nature of my soporific, my dear ? 
Well, there is no accounting for tastes. Now for your story. 
Pile portent upon portent, mystery upon mystery. Be not 
afraid of making the hair to stand on end. Freeze the blood 
if you can. So begin.” 

Arthura told her story — a family ghost story — and Mr. Con- 
stantine expressed himself much gratified. 

“ A very pretty horror, my dear, and it does great credit to 
your house. A good ghost story is as aristocratic as a long 
pedigree. Now for the reading. You tell me you are no 
musician. Are 5'’Ou versed in the music of the nose ? ” 

Arthura looked blank. 

“ Can you discern between a snort and a snore ? We 
snort wide awake ; we only snore when asleep. As soon 
as you hear the latter sound, turn down the lamp and 
steal softly away. But you must not mistake the prelude for 
the performance, the tuning of the instrument for the melody 
itself.” 

Arthura took up the book and began to read. And long 
she read, for Mr. Constantine seemed unusually alert, and 
even restless. 

“ The fact is, my dear,” he said, “ your voice is new to me. 
’Twill do its work better to-morrow. And I can’t help look- 
ing at your wonderful gown, fit for a female Prospero, a beau- 
tiful sorceress. Where did you get it, my Prospera ? ” 

“ Miss Hermitage gave it to me as a birthday present, sir,” 
Arthura made meek reply. 

“ I wish I had a diamond star to give you. It wants a 
diamond star. I had one years ago. That little hussy Polly 
got it from me.” He had lain his head on the pillow, with 
closed eyes, but now started up uneasily. “ Good heavens ! 
what have I been talking about ? ” he said. “ I do lose the 
thread of my discourse, I know, sometimes. What have I 
just said, my dear ? ” 

“You said something about Polly, sir,” Arthura replied, 
demurely. i 

“No indiscretion, I hope ? Polly — ^yes, it was Polly. The j 
saucy minx! But continue, my dear. Don’t let us talk, i 
Give itie to drink of mandragora.” ] 

Arthura went on, and for a long time Mr. Constantine lay ; 
in a half drowse, with a smile on his lips, the picture of a \ 


disai^med:^ 


loi 


placid contentment. Every word did not reach him, but he 
caught the meaning brokenly, as the scents of a summer gar- 
den reach us through a door that is opened and shut. And 
at last the voice did its work ; Mr Constantine slept indeed, 
and Arthura left him, herself in need of no mandragora. 
The next day and the next were spent in the same way — a 
happy afternoon with Steppie and the children, and a mid- 
night reading and colloquy with Mr. Constantine. Arthura 
soon found out that he liked to lead up to the reading by a 
little talk ; and strange yet fascinating were Mr. Constantine’s 
nocturnal discourses, the books on his shelves hardly more so. 

“ Observe,” he said, 'on the third night, “ the order and 
contents of my library — my midnight library. You will soon 
become acquainted with an odder one, I’ll warrant. ’Tis the 
completest in the world. There you may find Scipid^s Drea77i, 
That holds a foremost place. And the visit of Ulysses 
(they’ve changed his name since I went to school) to the 
phantoms of those who fought at Troy. And the Magic 
Doctor of the great Spaniard (his name escapes me). And 
the ghost-seer of the greater German. How names slip from 
me ! Visionaries, illuminati, dreamers, necromancers — not a 
poet or prose man who has written of the unseen world but is 
here. I love them all. We have no better teachers.” 

“ Do you bqjieve, then, in ghosts, sir ? ” asked Arthura, 
innocently. 

“ You misunderstand me, my dear. The belief in ghosts 
has nothing to do with it. But think, now, who but those 
men and women lift the veil from the palpable and the familiar, 
which for the most part is gross and mean t A touch of the 
supernatural reminds us that we are part spirit, not all flesh. 
We should, must be, mysteries to ourselves, or life has no 
meaning. Well, take up what book you will. Wave your wand, 
my Prospera, and conduct me into the land of shadows.” 

“ F^^ankenstein lies on the table, sir.” 

“Read that. ’Twas writ by the daughter of one seraphic 
spirit, the wife of another, herself a rare genius. And the 
world — that is, the parson’s — would fain have burned ’em all 
three. But read, my dear, read.” 

And once more Mr. Constantine listened for an hour or so, 
with a placid smile upon his lips, fairly slumbering at last. 
By the fourth night Arthura had grown accustomed to her 
task, and found it pleasant enough. She herself loved a 
ghost story, and delighted Mr. Constantine with one or two, 
which, being family traditions, he now heard for the first time. 


102 


^^disai^med: 


“ On my word, you are a promising disciple. The other 
ladies, one and all, poor creatures, used to quake with fear 
when they came into my room, so Bumstead told me, and 
were afraid to creep upstairs alone afterward. Scipio's Dream 
and The Vision of Mirza they did not mind, Frankenstein 
drove them mad, and The Ghost-Seer lost me many readers. 
They would rather beg for bread than read such things at 
midnight, they declared. You are always in the humor. 
Well, what book lies open before you ? ” 

“ Tis a volume in manuscript, sir, and the first page opens 
with ‘ Pompey’s Vision.’ ”■ 

“ Ah ! my manuscript volume. My posy ! my phial of 
elixir ! ’Tis a collection of choice fragments and pieces, my 
dear, that I have myself culled from authors of all countries, 
ancient and modern, and translated for the delectation of my 
old age. We will begin to-day at the beginning, and work 
our way gradually to the end. Stop, however : I had some- 
thing to ask you. What might it be ? Ah ! I remember 
now.” Mr. Constantine now raised his head from the pillow, 
and sitting up, put the following question : “ Would you tell 
me exactly what you think of Valerian ? ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“ I KNOW really nothing of this young man,” added Mr. 
Constantine. “ You have lived under the same roof with 
him for upward of a year. You should be quipk at reading 
character, unless I misread your own. Appraise him.” 

“ Was ever a man read by a woman, sir? ” 

“ On my word, a spirited reply. But something of Vale- 
rian’s disposition and nature generally you must have learned. 
We find out if a human being is good or bad, amiable or sour, 
just as we can tell the color of his eyes or hair. I am par- 
ticularly interested in Valerian just now, not on his own 
account, I confess, but on Stephana’s.” 

Athura, ever bravest of the brave, truest of the true, made 
quiet answer. She had heard nothing, she said. 

“What manner of man is this Valerian? ” continued Mr. 
Constantine. “ Has he understanding — a heart ? ” 

“None if he marries Stephana,” Arthura said. 

“And why?” 


disarmed: 


103 


“ Because he does not love her, sir, nor will she ever love 
him.” 

“ I feel pretty certain of that too. But, my dear, wedlock 
need not presuppose love. People marry for position, for ad- 
vancement, for a thousand motives besides love.” 

“The more's the pity.” 

“Ah ! you are romantic, I see. Well, for Valerian. Is 
he amiable ? ” 

“ Not if he marries Stephana without loving her, sir.” 

“ True. Stephana is adorable. But if she, of her own 
free-will, marries Valerian in order to advance his fortunes, 
what then "i Is he worthy of the sacrifice ? ” 

“ He would prove himself unworthy beforehand by accept- 
ing it.” 

“ I protest she has an answer for everjthing. There was 
a French king, my dear, who loved wit better than war. He 
would have divorced his dull Savoyard and made you his 
queen.” 

“ That would have been a pity, sir.” 

“ Why a pixy ? Have you no ambition ? ” 

“ Once his queen, sir, he would have had no more wit out 
of me.” 

Mr. Constantine laughed heartily. 

“True again. 'Tis wonderful how use and custom stale 
us all. The philosopher is ever a bore to the wife of his 
bosom. But not one good word for Valerian ? ” 

“As many as you please, provided he does not marry 
Stephana. She is a rare woman ! ” cried Arthura, passion- 
ately. 

“And he is not rare by any means. Clever, nevertheless, 
versatile, accommodating, and, as far as I have been able to 
judge, kind-hearted and agreeable.” 

Arthura was dumb. 

“Poor Valerian. Then you really have nothing to say on 
his behalf ? ” 

“ Everything if we do not couple his name with Ste- 
phana’s,” Arthura now said, warmly. “ She is a noble, al- 
most an unearthly being. There is nothing worldly about her. 
He has many excellent qualities, but he is ordinary flesh 
and blood.” 

“And in Stephana’s veins flows the true ichor. Well, 
what more ? ” 

“ To place us beside giants dwarfs us even if we are full- 
sized,” Arthura went on. “ Valerian must not, dare not, 


104 


disarmed: 


marry Stephana. She would but appear more magnanimous, 
he more ordinary, by comparison. And Stephana could 
never influence him, never reach him from her high spheres. 
They would dwell aloof. It would be isolation for both.” 

“ Just my own conclusion. My dear, the fact is (putting 
the Stephanas aside), there are only two kinds of women in 
the world, the woman who can flirt and the woman who can 
not. Ten generations of female legislators may evolve a 
third species, but ’tis yet in the germ. Now Valerian must 
marry among his equals, and leave the goddess alone. But 
away with realities. Into the calm gray world of phantoms 
where I feel more at home, my Prospera ! How opens the 
page?” 

“ We have come to ‘ The Sensitive Plant,’ sir.” 

“Ay, I know every line by heart; but no matter. Ste- 
phana reminds me of the lady who tended the flowers, and 
like her she should vanish mysteriously. Read, good Pros- 
pera.” 

Arthura read in spite of that sinking of the heart she had 
so valiantly concealed. She was shocked and disconcerted ; 
but she said to herself : For the moment only. Do what they 
might. Valerian would, must remain true to her. Foolish 
fears ! Unworthy trepidation ! A dozen Stephanas could 
not alter the fact that he loved her, and was her own Vale- 
rian — no hero, she admitted, but good enough to love and be 
loved, heroic enough to be true. Nevertheless, Mr. Constan- 
tine’s revelation haunted her. Valerian’s loyalty was being 
put to the proof. The sweet security of yesterday was rudely 
disturbed. Not doubt, not misgiving, only uneasiness, crept 
in, where all before had been serene confidence and per- 
fect understanding. 

What made her position most trying was the fact that she 
dared not write to her lover. One brief note had come from 
him, in which he said that he should contrive a visit to Lon- 
don soon for the purpose of seeing her. Barring its brevity, the 
love-letter was perfect, every word breathing confidence and 
chivalrous devotion. And she should see him soon. It 
was therefore childish, nay, unreasonable, to dwell upon the 
chimeras thus conjured up. Valerian marry Stephana, in- 
deed ! Stephana marry Valerian ! Who that knew the pair 
could for a moment contemplate such a possibility ? There 
was no lien between them, and Valerian’s best and most 
genial qualities but seemed to separate him from her. He 
loved the world, and never showed to more advantage than 


disarmed: 


when displaying his urbane character. Stephana loved all 
that was not the world, and evidently regarded Valerian’s 
social power as so much energy misapplied. Stephana cared 
for none of the things in which Valerian excelled, whilst to 
Valerian Stephana’s self was all unapproachableness and 
mystery. But why this battling with windmills Valerian 
lov^ed her. Valerian was true. Nothing more was said on 
the subject, and the days passed uneventfully. No Valerian, 
no falling off in lover-like little notes, no tidings of a nature 
either to allay or disquiet. They were preparing for a grand 
entertainment on New-Year’s Day, Valerian wrote. Would 
she were there ! He was more than busy ; he was really 
harassed by all the details that had to be gone into, and no 
one to help him. “ It was really unkind of my cousin to send 
you off just when you might have been so useful to me,” 
wrote Valerian, his letters, to a line, a mirror of himself. 
“ But it was a kind of freak I am ever prepared for. Who 
knows but that I may be cast adrift next 1 Though — forgive 
the scolding, dearest — you were not docile, you disobeyed 
my prayers and injunctions (I saw the dark looks, the im- 
patience, the frowns, as well as Christina). Would it not 
have been better — a thousand times better — to remain, put- 
ting on a little gayety when required We at least saw each 
other, spoke to each other — even once perhaps in a week 
whispered five words to each other. Now many things I 
fain would whisper I can not write, and ’tis all (can you 
deny it ?) your fault. Well, I love you as dearly as ever any 
man loved a woman ; so forgive me. If I did not love you, 
should I dare to let you see the real state of the case, which 
is that your own Valerian is sadly out of patience, spirits, 
and temper at this especial moment ? ' I’ll be an angel when 
I write to-morrow.” 

That letter put Arthura in spirits, and she went through 
her duties with sparkling grace and gayety. Why use the 
word duty Every moment of her life under Mr. Constan- 
tine’s roof was pure unalloyed pleasure, the daily visits home 
made so buoyantly through snow and fog, the nocturnal con- 
fabulations with her sweet old patron. For the sweetness 
of age is better than the sweetness of youth, and Mr. Con- 
stantine possessed it in a rare degree. Youth, indeed, says 
the German proverb, has no virtue, but the rare nature, like 
choice wine, mellows in the keeping. 

“ What is the day, my dear ” he asked of Arthura as the 
dark December drew to a close. 


io6 


disarmed: 


“ Two more, and we come to the last of the year, sir.” 

“ So soon ? Well, I’ll bid the young scapegrace welcome, 
and not shed a tear for the old curmudgeon, though he has 
not used me badly. And a few days more or less, dark or 
fair, for me, then welcome the great democrat, the only true 
exponent of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity — Death ! ” 

“ I hope you will not die yet, sir,” Arthura said, cheer- 
fully. 

“ I am not in a hurry, my dear, though quite ready to take 
my rest. I only regret that I leave the world so little better 
than what I found it.” 

“ But you have done your part in making it better, they 
say, sir.” 

Mr. Constantine smiled. “ True — true. I have worked 
manfully for man, woman, and beast. I can say that for 
myself. I have stood up for the right, and, what is more, 
for the weak. And mark my words, my dear. Dwell not 
too much on the exercise of kindness throughout your life, 
but seek rather to be just. Let austere, implacable, un- 
swerving justice be your guide in small emergencies as. well 
as great, not slipshod, purblind benevolence ever plucking 
at your sleeve. By justice only shall the world be mended. 
Well, your wand, my Prospera, your magic robe ! I am 
aweary of the world and its mendings. Into the land of 
shadows, away, away ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Far and wide on New-Year’s Eve flashed through the dus- 
ky heavens Miss Hermitage’s festive windows. Her house 
stood on a hill, dominating three sister hills, valley within 
valley, town and sea, and a beautiful spectacle it thus made, 
blazing like a beacon-fire amid countless lesser lights. For 
no sooner was the brief winter twilight over than the lamp- 
lighter’s enchanting business began. A will-o’-the-wisp here, 
a twinkling light as of a glow-worm there, now a cluster of 
little stars like the beads of a broken necklace, and lo ! on a 
sudden, as if by magic, from east to west the earth and broad 
span of heaven are set with fiery cressets. Not a space the 
size of the palm above or below without its lamp shining out 
of the Ethiop blackness of the night. On this marvelous 
panorama, however — glorious illumination that people would 


disarmed: 


107 


have flocked from all parts to see had it occurred once in a 
lifetime— neither hosts nor guests had time to dwell to-night. 
Miss Hermitage’s opening entertainment was to be splendid. 
Nothing like it had ever been seen in these parts, people 
said. All as yet was mystery and alert looking forward, but 
on one point there could be no doubt — Miss Hermitage’s 
promises to surpass herself would be made good. Valerian 
indeed promised these things for her, but was not Valerian 
Miss Hermitage, and Miss Hermitage Valerian The truth, 
of course, soon leaked out. As bevy after bevy of fair 
guests alighted at the door, a sign, a whisper, a wave of the 
hand in a certain direction, indicated what was in store for 
them. The spacious entrance hall had been turned into a buf- 
fet and reception-room, but when the company on arriving 
broke up into little knots for tea and gossip, they caught sug- 
gestive glimpses from the wide doors of the salons as they 
were stealthily opened and shut. Now was seen flitting by 
an airy figure in white and silver, whose feet, hardly touched 
the ground, unmistakable votary of the dance ; now an 
equally unmistakable queen of melodrama, dressed in the 
fashion of the day. Sounds, too, reached the ears of the 
guests impossible to misunderstand — tuning up of musical 
instruments, according of violin and violin. No need for 
the master of ceremonies to read aloud the programme. 
The entertainment was to begin with a fairy masque 
and end with a play. And soon appeared Colette, bear- 
ing an armful of little flying sheets, disclosing what already 
everyone knew. Yes, a drawing-room ballet — irreproach- 
able, of course, in the matter of accessories — was to lead 
the way to a charming little melodrama performed by com- 
petent actors. “ A delightful bill of fare,” was the general 
exclamation, although in so pleasant a meeting-place, and 
amid such good company, nothing in the way of professional 
amusement seemed necessary. It was the old story of Va- 
lerian painting the lily and gilding refined gold. 

Miss Hermitage was in excellent spirits. It afforded her 
a world of comfort to find that she could do without Arthura, 
that, indeed. Valerian made up for everything. In her secret 
heart she half suspected Arthura of some sentimental feel- 
ing for Valerian. What could moodiness mean in a girl but 
falling in love ? So she was well out of harm’s way, and as 
for Stephana and Valerian, they might do as they pleased 
by-and-by. “ How much happier people are without feel- 
ings,” thought Miss Hermitage — “ with only capacities for 


io8 


disarmed: 


enjoyment ! Now all the feeling in the world could not 
serve me in such stead as this faculty for enjoying myself — a 
faculty that does good all round without the cant of philan- 
thropy. I fill my rooms with pleasant folk ; I spend money 
like a queen in entertaining them, and like a queen I am 
made much of.” That she was, indeed. The cynosure of 
all eyes on this especial night was the little person in lemon- 
colored brocade, trimmed with rich modern lace. “ None of 
your dingy, inodorous, dilapidated old point for me,” was 
Miss Hermitage’s dictum. “ New wine in new bottles. To 
each generation its own finery.” The gown she wore was 
really becoming to a spare little old lady with the compactest 
figure, still perfectly agile and upright, features hard but neat, 
hands and feet to match, beautifully arrayed in fine silk mit- 
tens and fancy stockings and little sandaled slippers after 
the fashion of fifty years ago. 

With one hand resting on Valerian’s arm, she now made 
the circuit of the hall, greeting her visitors as radiantly as any 
bride acting the part of hostess for the first time. Satisfied 
and even delighted with Valerian in his capacity of steward 
she had ever been, but to-night she glanced at him almost 
fondly — at any rate, more than approvingly. And none could 
have failed to notice as the pair thus lingered arm in arm the 
strong family likeness between them. Not only did the like- 
ness exist in build, feature, and outward appearance generally, 
but in voice, expression, gesture. Worldling for worldling, 
idler for idler, optimist for optimist, were here, both animated 
with a cordial liking for life and humankind, both ready to 
take and leave things as they found them — a philosophy which 
certainly answers in so far as one’s own internal peace is con- 
cerned. Such similarities, bodily and mental, we are accus- 
tomed to look for among kinsfolk, and perhaps no one would 
have noticed it nov/ but for the curious link that bound Miss 
Hermitage and her protege together. For if Valerian pos- 
sessed absolutely nothing of worldly goods. Miss Hermitage 
was a pauper in those things with which nature had so roy- 
ally endowed him. Hers was the wealth, but his the capac- 
ity for making wealth desirable. They depended on each 
other, her necessities being greater than his own. 

“ Where is Stephana ? ” asked Miss Hermitage, accustom- 
ed now to appeal to Valerian with regard to Stephana’s move- 
ments. 

Valerian’s face clouded, “ Stephana is not always to be 


DISAJ^MEV: 


109 


depended on,” he answered, briefly. “ She made no promise 
to come, remember.” 

“ Our frivolities shock her, I dare say,” Miss Hermitage 
m.xde good-humored reply. “ I want her company neverthe- 
less. She can be mighty agreeable.” 

The musicians now began to play, the doors of the recep- 
tion-rooms were opened, and at a signal from Valerian the 
hundred and odd guests took their places. A few minutes 
more, and the curtain rose. One drawing-room ballet — mazy 
dance of sylphs, nymphs, and fairies keeping time to airiest 
music — is like another, and there was no speciality about this 
one except its grace and gayety. The very spirit of the dance 
seemed incarnate in these sportive fays and elfs, human creat- 
ures they could hardly be, whilst the measures were so gay- 
some that they set the heart beating quickly from mere 
pleasure. Nothing could be prettier, daintier, of its kind, and 
when the roundelay ended, and the dancers vanished quick- 
ly as they had come, there was a ring of applause. What 
would Valerian think of next ? 

What indeed ? 

Whilst Miss Hermitage was receiving the compliments of 
her guests, and they were speculating among themselves 
upon the next entertainment, Stephana stole in, unobserved 
except by Valerian. Beautiful exceedingly looked Stephana 
as she now made her way by groups of modish beauties, 
starry night flower amid the garish glomes of day ! All her 
dress was of cold yet subdued silveriness of moonlight, and 
like a cloud or a mist the silveriness seemed to wrap her round, 
lending mystery, something unearthly, eerie even, to features 
and form ever free from human ordinariness. Was she hu- 
man, indeed "i “ A spirit and a woman too ” or all spirit of 
the kith and kin of seraph ? — no compeer of those who toil 
and moil in the work-a-day world "i 

Valerian, feeling a spell of this kind, almost shrank from 
her cousinly advances. He wished nothing so much as to 
please her, but the nearer they approached each other in 
daily intercourse, the clearer he saw what a gulf divided 
them. 

Hitherto Stephana had made no further allusion whatever 
to the future as it concerned Valerian and herself, but to- 
night she seemed to verge on confidences, in need of a con- 
fidential listener. In the midst of the general hubbub of 
voices they were alone, and she .said, without leading up to 
the subject. 


no 


'^disai^med: 


“ You will smile when I tell you what really brought me 
here to-night.” 

“Not a love of pantomime or drawing-room comedy,” Va- 
lerian answered, lightly. 

“ I love to see a beautiful dance and a pretty play well 
enough, but my errand to-night is not diversion.” 

“ Have you been peering into your magic crystal ? Come 
you as a wraith bidding me, or one of my neighbors, be ready 
to die in three days’ time ? ” Valerian again made sportive 
answer, although a lurking uneasiness made itself heard in 
his voice. 

“ I came because I felt instinctively that I was wanted. 
You may laugh at my presentiments, as you call them,” pur- 
sued Stephana. “ They mean, after all, at least in this case, 
no more nor less than the sympathy that binds kinsfolk to- 
gether. Christina is the nearest relative I have in the world. 
What wonder that I should be irresistibly drawn toward her 
in a moment of peril .? ” 

Again Valerian smiled, although not quite naturally, 

“ I trust that your presence may ward it oif, then. Our 
cousin was never in better health and spirits in her life. 
Look at her ! ” 

Stephana glanced round, and true enough, gayest of the 
gay, almost sparkling in her overflow of good humor and 
geniality, was their hostess of seventy and odd summers. 
Age has its heyday as well as youth, and very likely Miss 
Hermitage had never appeared to better advantage than now 
with this cold brilliance in her eyes and faint flush on her 
thin cheek. The time of disillusions and checks was past. 
Flattery meant nothing, but hopes could no longer flatter, 
and she could at last take life and the world for what they 
were worth. 

“ Strange,” mused Stephana, aloud, “ I notice for the first 
time that Christina must have been handsome in her youth. 
For the first time, also, I see a remarkable likeness to your- 
self.” 

She turned her penetrating eyes toward Valerian, who 
shrank from their gaze. 

“ Have you never noticed it ? ” she added, looking at him 
curiously and speculatively. 

“ I am no physiognomist,” Valerian said, carelessly, yet 
with some slight embarrassment. 

Stephana saw it, and immediately changed the subject. A 
moment more and the curtain rose. 


disarmed: 


III 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

One drawing-room play, just like one drawing-room audi- 
ence, is much like another, and on the present occasion there 
seemed nothing exceptional in Valerian’s choice to the bulk 
of Miss Hermitage’s guests. They were merely called upon 
to smile, shed tears, and applaud, which is within the limits 
of ordinary capacity. A prettier piece had never been writ- 
ten, said everybody, and of course scenery and accessories 
were beyond praise, and actors and actresses alike fascinat- 
ing. Valerian’s stage-management was a guarantee so far. 
What a pity that every Miss Hermitage had not a Valerian ! 
Then opulence would no longer be allied to dullness and lux- 
ury — but another name for ennui. 

Thus much for the popular estimation of Valerian’s little 
play, that like an April day opened in clouds and rain, but 
toward sunset showed a smiling blue sky. 

The early scenes were indeed moving in the extreme, but 
the most obtuse speculator could discern that all things were 
to turn out happily in the end. 

There were four present, however, to whom the play 
seemed to mean more than graceful melodrama or vaudeville, 
and from the first a physiognomist might have found their 
faces an interesting study. It was evident that to Miss Her- 
mitage, Stephana, Colette, and Valerian these pastoral and 
pathetic situations suggested something subtle and problemat- 
ic, something as far removed from the distraction and ordi- 
nary comprehension of those around them as the inmost 
thoughts of one human being from another. They gazed, 
listened, became absorbed, with the air of those who are 
helping to unriddle the mystery of their own lives, to unravel 
some intricately woven knot of destiny that has hitherto de- 
fied all efforts. 

Whilst Miss Hetmitage and Stephana were spell-bound by 
the play. Valerian’s interest remained divided. From time 
to time he glanced at Christina, watching every change in ex- 
pression and every movement, taking care all the while that 
his scrutiny was not observed. So intently did he peruse her 
countenance at intervals that it was plain he sought there a 
comment on the play with which those of the crowd had noth- 
ing to do. She was his audience. For her, if for no other, 
the piece should mean more than an hour’s tears and laughter, 
a new distraction added to so many. 


12 


disarmed: 


Simple enough was the little drama which Miss Hermitage 
watched with apparent composure, yet wholly unusual eager- 
ness, and in which Stephana, quietly also, but painfully intent, 
seemed to read a sibylline leaf. Valerian looking on, cold, vig- 
ilant, perturbed, but master of himself. 

The story opened after the fashion of an idyl. An old farm- 
house in Kent ; apple orchards and flower gardens round 
about ; two pretty maidens, in the guise of our grandmothers, 
making hay in a pightel, or inclosed meadow. These are 
Molly, the rich farmer's daughter, and her bosom friend and 
constant companion, Letty, a poor orphan. Soon the prat- 
tlings of the girls are disturbed by a rustic swain, whose head 
appears above the garden wall ; and whilst ostensibly making 
love to the portionless Letty, we soon discover that in reality 
he is .the accepted lover of the rich man’s heiress. For 
Fanner Maple is wealthy, and his only child is to marry a 
rich man of his own choosing — so he says — or none at all. 
The girl, however, has a will of her own, and, aided and 
abetted by her confidante Letty, contrives to carry on court- 
ship with the lover she has chosen for herself. It is as Letty’s 
suitor young Briarley, himself an orphan and undowered of 
fortune, comes to the house. So far all is bland, sunny, play- 
ful ; but wdien the stern old Maple appears the situation be- 
comes grim and tragic. ’Tis the old, old story over again — 
a rigid father resolved to bend a daughter’s will to his own, 
the one determined to be obeyed, the other as equally de- 
termined on disobedience. Then come girlish confabulations, 
hurried schemes of deliverance, plan after plan, device after 
device, the friendless, motherless Molly turning to Letty only 
in her supreme dilemma. And soon a daring plot is laid and 
carried out. Letty informs her patron that her own marriage 
with young Briarley is decided upon, and begs as a special fa- 
vor that Molly may accompany her home — that is to say, to 
the home of her nearest relation — in order to act as bride- 
maid. “You afe ^oing to marry Molly to Farmer Grouse,” 
she said, passionately,. “ and Jem is going to take me to Aus- 
tralia. Who knows if Molly and I shall ever meet again ? ” 

The old man consents, first because he is extremely glad to 
be rid of Letty, whose influence over his daughter he resents, 
and most of all because Molly promises that on her return 
she will do anything he pleases. “ Only give me this one 
holiday, father, this one little spell of liberty and happiness with 
Letty, and as long as I live I will ask no more of you,” she 
entreats, not in tears and on her knees — she knows her father 


disarmed:' J13 

too well for that — but with playful caresses and insinuations. 
So the trio set off, and of course we all know on what errand. 

It is Molly, the rich man’s daughter, who is married to 
young Briarley in Letty’s place — Molly who is ready to accom- 
pany him to Australia, to give up fortune, native country, pa- 
ternal favor, for love’s sake. And most audacious of the au- 
dacious, bravest of the brave, Letty returns alone to break 
the news. “ What harm can Farmer Maple do me ? ” she said, 
scofhngly ; “ or any woman who is not his wife or his daugh- 
ter ? ” 

Of course the tempest was awful, but it passed harmless 
over her head. The old man could only rave and storm, and 
little cared she, a high-spirited, reckless girl, for Farmer Ma- 
ple’s wrath. What really constituted Molly’s sin in her 
father’s eye was not the fact of her marriage being clandestine, 
but low. There are aristocrats in every society, and Farmer 
Maple looked down with supreme contempt on the son of a 
village huckster, a ne’er-do-weel, moreover. Young Briarley, 
although pleasant and comely (good enough for a girl like 
Letty, who had also to shift for herself), was not sedate, and 
as yet had followed no calling. What so clear as a mercenary 
motive on his part 1 This runaway match was at least no love 
affair on one side ; but Molly had married for love, and on 
love should she fare. 

Letty, finding that the old man did not turn her out, quietly 
staid on ; she saw no good reason for going, and could thus 
best serve her friend by-and-by. Meantime, Maple insists 
on secrecy concerning his daughter’s marriage. She is away 
on visits. The neighbors are to know no more. Meantime, 
the young couple do not prosper. Briarley, whose chief fault 
is idleness, looking for a reconciliation with his wife’s father, 
gives up the Australian project, gets employment as a clerk, 
and poor employment it is, sufficing to keep body and soul 
together, no more. Molly’s nature is not one to soften and 
to beautify in adversity. We must all pay for the foibles of 
our progenitors, and the inflexible character of Maple the 
farmer showed now itself in the daughter. 

Love disappointed her — what woman does it not dis- 
appoint 1 — and even the joys of maternity were imbittered. 
A boy was born to her, who should be heir to the rich man’s 
wealth, and not heir only, but the pride of his old age, as the 
very apple of' his eye. Again and again Letty has acted the 
part of intercessor in vain, and she determines on a final and 
desperate effort now. 

8 


114 


disarmed: 


Not a hint is given beforehand of the child’s coming, or of 
what else had happened, but when he is a few weeks old, 
Letty, ever fond of plot and shift, lays her trap. Molly has 
hardened toward her father, and refuses to plead her boy’s 
cause, so the little thing is brought surreptitiously into his 
grandfather’s house, where he is found by him. 

The climax is terrible. 

The old man turns from the cradled infant as from a ser- 
pent. ^‘They think me a child, do they,” he cries, in a 
frenzy of vindictiveness and resentment, “ to be befooled into 
harboring those who suck in disobedience with mother’s milk ? 
Not I. Away with it ! Boy or girl, ’tis none of mine ; ’tis 
naught to me. I have no children.” 

From the supplicating, insinuating Letty he turns away too. 
Vainly she holds up the child, tries to make him look at it, 
touch it. Then, as a last expedient, she breaks forth indig- 
nantly : 

“Heaven has not doomed you to be childless. In calling 
yourself so you do but blaspheme,” she cried. “ Look at 
this boy, an exact copy of yourself ; and his mother is living, 
God be praised ! is close by; is here awaiting your embrace.” 

Molly enters, not the soft, coquettish maiden we first saw 
making hay in the pightel, but a pale, care-worn matron, all 
her father’s hardness now written on her face. For the last 
few weeks have brought her complete disillusion. This mar- 
riage for which she had sacrificed so much has ended in an 
unlooked-for catastrophe. It was the fact of young Briarley’s 
mean birth and ordinary character that more than anything 
else had set old Maple against him. “ Base-born is base- 
born year out, year in,” he would say. “You won’t gather 
corn from charlock seed.” The prognostications had come 
true. Molly is now an abandoned wife, with nothing but her 
child in the world. 

“Father,” she cried, sternly and wildly, “you can not, you 
dare not, disown me now, I am no longer any man’s wife, 
but once more your daughter.” 

“ If so,” answered the old man, with a white face — “ if, as 
you say, you are my own daughter, send away the child. Let 
none know that he is yours, that your name is his father’s. 
Then you shall be my daughter indeed.” 

There is a pause of silent conflict. How will it end ? 
Shall the fearful bond be entered into — a child so sacrificed 
to the world, a mother’s duty and affection stifled and 
trampled underfoot ? Will love triumph and holiest instinct, 


disarmed: 


“5 


or self-indulgence and clinging to gross needs ? No middle 
course is possible. No angel will interfere. The mother 
must either be disowned or disown ! 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The curtain fell amid tremendous applause, and a second 
and a third time the artists were obliged to show themselves 
to the delighted audience, whilst Valerian was surrounded by 
his friends. A thousand questions assailed him at once. 
Who had written the play ? Who had acted Molly so charm- 
ingly ? And the rustic dresses and scenery .? And the music 
of the intermezzo ? Nothing could be daintier, more appro- 
priate ? Valerian, hemmed in on all sides by these immoder- 
ate inquirers, struggled vainly to disentangle himself. He 
was compelled, whether he would or no, to smile thanks, 
make answer, explain, finally to indicate the direction in 
which supper was to be found. Stephana also, whose appear- 
ance had passed without notice in the early part of the even- 
ing, was now taken possession of by eager acquaintances. 
Like Valerian, she felt bewildered and unequal to the draw- 
ing-room etiquette just then ; but there was no help for it. 
She must behave as if nothing unusual had happened. In an 
assemblage of a hundred and odd guests a host or hostess 
can not be visible to all at once, and what with the pleasur- 
able sense of relief from undue mental strain and the lively 
gratification of a goodly regale, Miss Hermitage’s visitors 
forgot to notice her absence. The banqueting chamber, in- 
deed, was so royally- adorned with flowers and tropic plants 
that it was impossible to see even your opposite neighbor. 
All the company, of course, took it for granted that Miss 
Hermitage was present, by which especial azalea concealed 
none cared to ascertain. The ripe, sunny wines, the delicate 
cates, put everything else out of people’s minds. 

Where all this time was the faithful Colette } She had list- 
ened to the play with vague uneasy gestures and fluttering 
movements, like a little frightened bird. Now she fanned 
herself, and now she plied her vinaigrette, not able for a mo- 
ment to retain the same position or master her concern. No 
one noticed her. Miss Hermitage’s guests were not in the 
habit of paying much attention to her quaint little musician 
in ordinary, and the play was found absorbing. When at last 


ii6 


“ disarmed: 


an unusually exciting moment came, and everybody’s atten- 
tion was riveted on the actors, Colette stole away and has- 
tened to her room, there to throw herself on her bed in an 
agony of dismay. 

Where was Miss Hermitage ? 

Stephana had come,’disturbed in mind by vague foreshadow- 
ings of evil, but the revelation that the play was to her, and 
the painful, nay, agonized convictions it brought, for the mo- 
ment put away other thoughts. She felt dazed and staggered, 
blinded by the light that had flashed on a dark place. On 
recovering herself in some degree, her first thought was of 
Christina. That look of hers she had last seen was fresh in her 
mind, and she could but connect it with some fearful passion. 
Love was it, or love like hate ? Sorrow, anger, or the bitter 
vindictiveness engendered of both ? Stephana now realized, 
as if by inspiration, what the inner warning of a few hours 
ago must mean. She had come to save Christina from dan- 
ger, and now she realized its nature. A chasm yawned at 
Christina’s feet, and it was of her own work, the evil follow- 
ing her as a shadow was a shadow indeed, a real though in- 
tangible part of herself. The enem}^, the destroyer, was here. 

Impelled by these thoughts, one succeeding the other rap- 
idly, Stephana now contrived to steal unobserved from the 
crowded banqueting hall. Unobserved also she reached 
Miss Hermitage’s bed-chamber, dressing-room, and boudoir, 
three rooms communicating by folding-doors, with the first 
story. The outer door stood open, and fire was burning 
brightly on the hearth, but there was no other ‘light. 

“ Christina — cousin — are you there ? ” 

Stephana paused for a moment on the threshold ; then get- 
ting no answer, she moved forward and glanced round. The 
doors opening from one room to the other stood wide, and all 
three were silent and deserted, but in the bright fire-light her 
eyes were immediately attracted to a conspicuous object in 
the dressing closet. 

This was the gorgeous lemon-colored gown of richest bro- 
cade that Miss Hermitage had worn throughout the evening. 
It had been evidently discarded in haste, and scattered upon 
it, carelessly as if they were ordinary dressing pins, lay the 
rich woman’s famous diamonds. On the cold sheen of the 
silk they glittered and sparkled dazzlingly, some adhering to it, 
others lying on the floor, the whole strangely contrasted with 
the dark purple shadows of the room ; for Miss Hermitage 
loved warmth and sumptuousness, and this especial apartment 


disarmed: 


17 


was luxuriously curtained and carpeted by warm soft textures 
of crimson and violet Only the fire glowed and the pale 
yellowish-green silk with its sprinkling of diamonds flashed 
through the prevailing gloom. “ Christina,” once more Ste- 
phana called, softly. Again all was silent, and Stephana now 
closed the door of the outer room and continued her search. 
But Miss Hermitage was not to be found. 

Stephana very quietly continued her search, now going a 
story higher. As she climbed the second staircase the con- 
fusion of voices below, strains of music, and all the various 
noises that are inseparable from a festive gathering grew 
fainter and fainter, till by the time she reached the second 
landing she seemed to be in a quiet place. Here all was 
equally deserted. A jet of gas burned dimly at each end of 
the corridor, but no one was moving about, and from the ob- 
scurity and stillness one might have supposed Miss Hermi- 
tage’s numerous household to be already fast asleep. The 
servants slept here on the upper story, and at that moment 
they were one and all regaling below. Not a sound, not a sign 
of life greeted Stephana as, gray and spirit-like, she moved 
noiselessly from one place to another. There was yet a 
third staircase, dark, steep, and narrow, that led to the lofti- 
est part of the house, a small square tower, built by its origi- 
nal owner for astronomical purposes. 

Stephana suddenly recollected the existence of this little 
winding stair as she was about to descend, and she now 
turned back in search of it. She knew that a door shut it off 
from the landing, but the exact position of the door she forgot. 
One after another she opened, now a house-maid’s closet, now 
a linen cupboard, now a box-room ; the right one, as usual, 
came last. When indeed she found the staircase, what was 
her horror and dismay to find herself forced back by a vol- 
ume of smoke ! The truth flashed upon her in a moment. 
The watch-tower had been fired. Stephana, to whose mind 
this dreadful conviction brought another more shocking still, 
now determined at any cost to reach the little chamber of the 
tower. How she contrived to effect her purpose she never 
knew, but will had its way. On the threshold she stood for 
a moment, blinded by the conflagration raging within. The 
pavilion was a light, airy construction, with windows looking 
to the four quarters of heaven, and was now fairly ablaze, 
whilst in the midst, wearing a loose white gown, her eyes 
wild and defiant, her lips moving incoherently, moved Chris- 
tina. It was a Eumenid incarnate, - ' 


i8 


disarmed: 


“ Christina ! ” said Stephana — “ Christina ! ” 

The quiet mastery of Stephana’s wonderful voice made itself 
felt, yet not all at once. Miss Hermitage, still holding a can- 
dle in her hand — the fatal torch that had worked such mis- 
chief — tried to resist the spell, to do her own evil will. Quick 
as a wild animal seeking escape from the trapper,' she now 
sprang to the balcony, and had not Stephana divined her in- 
tention, would in another second have been past all help. 

The observatory had never been used except by its origi- 
nal owner, and only an unsubstantial and tray-like parapet 
protected the outer space or balcony, removed sixty feet at 
least from the ground, with nothing in the shape of interven- 
ing buttress or roof to break the distance. On this terrible 
pinnacle, then, for a short but awful space hung Christina and 
Stephana, evil spirit wrestling with the good. 

Fury and angel brought face to face in supreme encounter. 
Hate and love at odds. Had there been lookers-on, they must 
have discerned something symbolical in the very appearance 
of this suspended pair, for indeed they seemed to hang like 
a couple of birds in mid-air ; above them the dark iron-black 
wintry heavens studded with bright gold stars; below, almost 
iron-black also, the quiet hills, the sleeping town and sea, all, 
like the skies, showing a thousand fiery cressets behind them, 
a fiery envelope, the steadily gaining flames of the pavilion. 

Stephana had never looked more radiant and spirit-like 
than now. The silveriness of her dress, the beautiful pale- 
ness of her complexion, the dark luster of her eyes and hair, 
so contrasted with the pearliness of the skin, the indescrib- 
able serenity and sweetness combined with something severe 
in every look and movement — all these made up an appari- 
tion at once startling and seraphic. 

And what a contrast to the other ! For if the superhuman 
magnanimity and inspired daring of Stephana had never 
shone forth more visibly than now, in a supreme moment of 
bodily danger, so Christina’s real nature proclaimed itself in 
the strong light of desperation and cowardly fear. Her 
thoughts centered in herself only. Nothing mattered, nothing 
was present to her, but a danger from which death and death 
alone offered an escape. Whilst Stephana’s mind was wholly 
bent on rescuing another from a self-immolation purely ego- 
tistical, Christina realized only the misery and humiliation 
in store for herself if she lived. There was but one to-morrow 
— her own ; and provided that could be eluded, the rest was 
not worth a thought. 'Stephana was tall and slender, and her 


disarmed: 


bodily strength perhaps hardly exceeded that of her adversary, 
Christina, in spite of her three-score-and-ten years, being 
wiry and agile in the extreme. But whilst the swiftness and 
elusive subtlety of the elder woman’s movements were actu- 
ated by the frenzy of despair, Stephana was guided — nay, im- 
pelled — by a force stronger than any mad impulse. She felt, 
she new, that she should conquer here, not by virtue of phys- 
ical or even moral strength, but because she had come for 
nothing else. The day that presaged evil for Christina had 
brought also a mandate of deliverance to herself. Christina 
would be saved, and by Stephana only : how she could not 
tell. 

“ Loose your hold ! ” cried Miss Hermitage, wildly, bent 
on the only kind of deliverance that seemed possible to her — 
a plunge into darkness, oblivion, annihilation. The rest 
mattered little. 

Stephana held her fast, though for a moment they swayed 
backward and forward in deadly peril, as if the next they 
must both vanish into the night below. No help was near. 
All on this side of the house was silent and deserted, and 
the flames within w^ere gathering, yet Stephana’s courage did 
not go. 

Loose your hold, I say ! ” reiterated Christina, “ or I 
take you with me, and you are not ready ! You are not ready ! ” 
she repeated, with a mocking laugh. 

Stephana felt herself suddenly endowed with superhuman 
strength. Her hold became as the grip of an armed man, 
as an iron chain binding the other hand and foot. Her voice, 
too, was no longer her own. In its inflexible accents Miss 
Hermitage heard the utterance of doom, of the avenging 
angel. 

“ Nor are you ready,” said Stephana, with sad austereness. 
“ You must live, whether you will or no. I have come to tell 
you so.” 

Christina’s muscles relaxed. She gradually let herself sink 
into Stephana’s arms, trembling and making low moans. Her 
fearful purpose frustrated, she seemed the prey of a dread 
and ghostly terror ; but of what, of whom ? 

“ Save me ! ” she cried, for a moment shaken with passion. 
“ Save me, Stephana ! you and none other can ! Save me 
from — from ” — then getting out the hateful words with all 
possible speed, she whispered in her ear — “ from Valerian — 
my son ! ” 


120 


DISARMED. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Far and wide blazed Miss Hermitage’s festive lights, and 
farther and wider now blazed the conflagration, at first sup- 
posed to be part of the convivial lighting up. Beautiful 
and cheerful looked the airy pavilion of the watch-tower thus 
illuminated, conspicuous among the thousand beacons and 
twinkling lamps studding earth and sea as stars sprinkled 
the dusk heavens. Like a meteor it flashed and flickered in 
the sight of gazers far away, dwarfing and dulling the brill- 
iantly lighted town below, soon making one bright point, 
one superb illumination, in what seemed now a pitchy envi- 
ronment. 

Just as a splendid deed or a monstrous crime obscures lesser 
acts, whether good or evil, so the fire for the time and figura- 
tively put out all lesser lights. 

All was dark that winter night: save the mansion blazing on 
the hill. For on a sudden the truth burst on the coast-guards- 
men patrolling the coast and the midnight stragglers in the 
streets. The house of Miss Hermitage the millionaire was on 
fire. Then, of course, ensued the very commotion and dis- 
order on which Miss Hermitage had counted. Amid this 
desperate hurrying to and fro of her household, this stampede 
of assembled guests as indecorous and summary as that of a 
routed army, this imminent peril of life and limb to every 
one, the author of the catastrophe was ignored. On the gay 
world devolved one duty only — that of self-preservation. On 
Valerian, as house steward, devolved a thousand. He was 
bound to concentrate all his energies on putting out the fire : 
it would be time enough to inquire into its origin to-mor- 
row. 

If it is wonderful how much we contrive to know of each 
other’s affairs, still more astonishing is it to reflect on the num- 
ber of events we are enabled to conceal from our neighbor. 
The extraordinary and often unexampled incidents, the scan- 
dals and mysteries, the shifts and extremities, that make up 
so large a portion of domestic life are for the most part kept 
to ourselves. For so doing we act wisely. Existence would 
indeed be insupportable were it not for a certain reticence 
and decorum concerning the meaner tragedy and comedy acted 
on the’ human stage ; fireside rehearsals of more dignified 
dramas we laugh and weep at when becomingly represented. 
We are all indeed bound to remember that the duty of renuncia- 


disarmed: 


I2I 


tion is more especially incumbent on us in the matter of 
sympathy. We must husband the sympathies of the wise and 
the magnanimous, and not squander them upon pitiful objects. 
Thus it came about that little of what had transpired was known 
to the agreeable and ingratiating sea-side world in which Miss 
Hermitage had so long moved a central figure. The house 
had been fired in several places, and the fire had with some 
difficulty been put out, the hostess and her strange and beauti- 
ful guest Stephana, who were the first to give the alarm, 
receiving some slight hurt. Miss Hermitage was said to be 
mentally, not bodily, ill from the shock. Little wonder, poor 
lady, everyone ejaculated, and every one left cards and notes 
of inquiry to be duly forwarded. There the matter ended, 
except for a few speculations on the probable origin of the 
fire. 

“ Miss Hermitage’s jewels at the bottom of it, of course,” 
said one. “ A concerted thing. A diamond robbery.” 

“ That comes of having servants who are Swedenborgians 
and read Radical newspapers,” observed another. 

A third imputed the fire to a foreign butler whose nose was 
slightly awry, a fourth to a house-maid who squinted. Had 
an ill-looking peddler been seen on the premises a few hours 
before the catastrophe he would most certainly have been 
tried for arson, and probably condemned, so close is the con- 
nection in most minds between darns and damnation, virtuous 
conduct and irreproachable shirt fronts. No one suspected 
the truth, except, of course, those who knew Miss Hermitage 
well — Colette and Valerian — but not a word was said. Only 
Stephana as yet took Valerian into her confidence. 

Next morning, the first day of the new year, she found him 
in the little breakfast-room, looking haggard enough after that 
long night of shock, alarm, and exertion. For the first time, 
too, Stephana noticed that he looked spiritless and depressed, 
whilst her own weariness was of the body only. One slender 
hand that had been injured in the fire was bandaged and 
bound in a sling, but her brow was ser.ene, her dark eyes lus- 
trous as ever, and she greeted Valerian with a sweet smile. 

She sat down at the breakfast table and sipped the coffee 
he poured out for her, glancing at him without a word. At 
last, as he seemed disinclined to begin, she said, with a 
searching yet not unsympathetic look: ‘‘I have one com- 
mand to lay upon you. Christina is going away this very 
day. You must not try to see her.” 

“ Why should I try to see her ? ” was the bitter reply. 


122 


disarmed: 


“You must try to forgive each ofher,” Stephana said, 
sadly and insinuatingly. 

Valerian’s eyes for a moment showed angry fire. The 
next he controlled himself, and answered in cold, measured 
tones : 

“ I am sorry that you blame me, my cousin.” 

“ What right have I to blame you, or any one ? ” Stephana 
exclaimed. Never in all her life had she felt so sorry for 
Valerian as now. “ Can one human being judge another ? 
But it seemed to me ” — and here she looked him in the face, 
all the light of that transparent soul beaming out of her eyes 
— “ it seemed to me that you might have learned the truth 
without having recourse to a shift.” 

“ From her ? — never. You do not know — ” He broke 
off with a deep flush. How could he pronounce the words 
“ my mother ” ? 

“ Will you be quite candid with me. Valerian ? ” continued 
Stephana, in soft, sweet, sisterly accents. “ I know how 
deeply you must have felt the uncertainty about your birth, 
and how vindictively you must, in your own mind, have ac- 
cused the authors of it for the injustice done to you. Here 
indignation was proper and justifiable. But there is another 
feeling, as natural and strong, that should surely be yours 
also. Do you not own to it Are you not drawn toward 
your mother ? ” 

Valerian’s face but hardened under the influence of these 
moving words. Stephana, contemplating him, asked herself 
by what spell she could melt that obdurate heart, subdue that 
intractable mood. He was hers ; she was bound to do with 
him as she would. Yet he sat there, opposite to her, listen- 
ing to her, icy cold, frozen into stony indifference. Gazing 
at him then, she saw as she had never seen it before the 
likeness between the pair. It was not only Christina’s son, 
but Christina’s very image, a second self, she now saw before 
her. 

She moved a step nearer, and said, in the softest, most 
healing tones of her tender voice : “ Dear Valerian, you are 

not alone ; you have a friend to confide in. Unburden your- 
self to me.” 

“ And if I were to do so,” cried Valerian, desperate and 
vindictive, “ I should have a friend no longer. You would 
turn from me in mistrust and disappointment.” 

Then with all those dear yet stinging reflections of Arthura 
rushing into his mind, with all that consciousness of treach- 


^‘jD/SAJ^M£jD. 


123 


ery toward her and Stephana vividly before h-m, what won- 
der that he sought to justify himself by exaggerating a long- 
treasured-up sense of wrong ? He knew well enough that he 
was what he was by virtue of character and temperament, and 
that however much the circumstances of his birth might have 
marred his prospects in life, they had not taught him to con- 
found good and evil. He was first himself — a reasoning, 
thinking being, a man after that Valerian the nameless, the 
disowned. But having now to plead his own cause to Ste- 
phana, he seized upon a supreme misfortune, or at least mis- 
hap, and made it to do duty for weakness unrestrained, self-in- 
dulgence unchecked, principle set at defiance, and duty dis- 
allowed. 

“ How can I unburden myself } ” he continued. “ You 
exact high motives and a spirit of self-abnegation in the least 
little thing. I have none of these to give you. I am a very 
poor creature, Stephana; perhaps no worse, certainly no 
better, than circumstances have made me.” 

“You can not think so meanly of yourself as you say,” 
Stephana replied, kindly though reprovingly. “ At least this 
revelation was no affair of chance; you hazarded the play, 
and from what motive ? Not a sense of injury alone ; surely 
more than that,” she pleaded, almost passionately. “ In- 
stinct, affection, must have prompted you — ” 

“ Say rather hate,” cried Valerian. “ Think for a moment, 
and blame me if you can, if you dare. What have I been to 
this woman — my mother, then, since you bid me so call her ? 
A friend, an equal, a confidant ? Nothing of the kind. She 
has used me for her own selfish purpose only, wanting no 
son, only a better sort of serving-man, a superior lackey, ever 
at her beck and call. As far as serviceableness goes we are 
quits ; I at least have earned my wages.” 

“ But,” said Stephana, still using gentleness and suavity, 
“ as yet you do not know all. Do not consider your own 
wrongs irreparable till you know what her own have been.” 

“ I know already enough,” retorted Valerian, in biting 
tones. “ No, Stephana, rid me of my hate toward her if you 
can and will, but ask no affection in return. Let me never 
so much as see her.” 

“ Valerian,” Stephana cried, turning full upon him the 
subdued light of her mesmeric eyes, “ is there room in your 
heart for hate ? If so, love will be surely pushed out. Mas- 
ter yourself, your worse self, and pity, even love, when duty 
bids.” 


124 


disaj^med: 


Valerian heard in sullen silence. Stephana, having deep- 
est pity for him, discerning the intense wretchedness at the 
bottom of his mood, grew kinder and kinder, more and more 
compassionate. The unutterable depth of her pitiful love — 
not for this poor, ill-used, worldly Valerian anymore than for 
all wretched, sinful souls — -shone out of her dark eyes, and 
thrilled her tender voice as she continued speaking, deter- 
mined to vanquish at last. 

“ Do not think that I am insensible to your wrongs. I 
have perhaps exaggerated them in my own mind.” Here for 
a moment the tears rose and a fine blush mantled her pale 
cheeks. “For wrongs may appear virtues in those we care 
most about, and I must have fallen into the error I imputed 
to you — a nobleness that you disclaim. I took yours to be a 
generous nature.” 

Valerian listened, unresponsive, wrestling all the time with 
himself. He was torn to pieces by the angel and the demon 
that are in us all, wanting to take this opportunity of reveal- 
ing everything to Stephana, throwing himself upon her mag- 
nanimity for once and for all, wishing at the same time to 
draw her nearer to him, to make her his close friend forever 
by winning her confidence and her love. Never was a better 
chancy of righting himself in Stephana’s eyes. She would 
have forgiven everything in consideration of a disinterested 
love. 

“ Whose son am I "i From whom should I inherit generos- 
ity .? ” he exclaimed, once more shifting all the blame of his 
own conduct o'n others. “ First make me generous, Stephana ; 
then exact generous deeds. I am no meaner than others so 
schooled.” 

She saw that he was struggling with himself, and naturally 
imputed the conflict to the only problem before her own mind. 
Here again Valerian’s double dilemma served him in good 
stead. It was Christina’s son, not Arthura’s lover, battling 
with his better nature ; and to Christina’s son how much 
should be forgiven ! She looked at him searchingly, almost 
tenderly ; then she asked him, with that exquisite tenderness 
that ever marked her speech, “ Tell me. Valerian, do you care 
for me as you did in Italy ? ” 

This question, made in the quietest tones of a woman’s 
sweet voice, and from no mere coquettish curiosity, but the 
noblest, most single-minded motives, probed Valerian’s nature 
to the very depths. He realized the final test, the palmary 
proof, herein exacted of him. On this yea and nay must 


DISARMED. 


125 


depend his soul’s last lapse or bright redemption — a step 
upward in the paths of shining goodness and glorious truth, 
or deep down into the dark, mazy ways of crookedness and 
wile. 

For a moment the conflict lasted, yet how much longer it 
seemed ! Before Valerian’s mind flashed a warm, sunny 
picture — the green heart of a woodland glade ; round about, 
close-set spinnies of larch and flr ; above, the blue skies of 
happy France ; and happiest of all, two lovers keeping holi- 
day. He heard the murmurous flow of silvery currents, and 
mingled with the sound a clear girlish voice prattling of the 
future that belonged to both. Then Valerian’s faculties sud- 
denly quickened to a sense of reality ; the past became faint, 
the dalliance and the dreams, and he bowed in body as in 
spirit before this august presence. Stephana had subdued, 
vanquished him, he said to himself, as he now bent down, 
half kneeling, to kiss her hand, she smiling, without love, but 
full of pity and encouragement. And somehow the uncommon 
graciousness of her looks and manner, and the positive glory 
that seemed to sit on her pure forehead and beam out of her' 
rare eyes, made Valerian for a moment feel as if she must 
have cast a glamour over him, and made him hers in spite of 
duty and himself. “ Do I care for you ? ” he cried, yielding 
himself to the alluring thought, the supreme condonation. 
He was no free agent. Stephana willed to fascinate him. 
“ I am yours, whether I will or no — yours, Stephana, to do 
with as you may.” 

She made no answer, but, bending down proudly and com- 
passionately — ^for she saw that there were tears in his eyes — 
kissed him on the forehead. A kiss that meant many things. 
Not love, certes, but a prophecy of spiritual amendment on 
his part, whose base is love, indeed ; reconcilement also, 
which is of love’s fellowship ; and above all these, love’s es- 
sence and sublimate, divine pity. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Stephana might lull herself into fancied security with re- 
gard to Valerian, hoping if not believing here to have found 
or evoked a soul. But how to melt that kindred nature, 
hitherto unyielding as iron in her hands ? Would Christina 
ever prove tractable ? Would she own at last to some soft 


126 


disarmed: 


influence or tender affection ? To Stephana just now came 
one of those phases through which all fine spirits sooner or 
later must pass. She could not help asking herself any more 
than other noble creatures why the sensitive must be paired 
with the dull of feeling, the clear-souled with the earth-born, 
the chaste wdth the gross-minded. Why should they whose 
thoughts perpetually soar beyond the vulgar needs of day be 
dragged to earth by meaner kinship ? Where could she find 
two beings less in sympathy with her than these two. Vale- 
rian and Christina ? Yet she must bear them company, share 
their daily life, love them if she could. Perhaps the re- 
sponse to such questioning is not hard to find. There is no 
island of the blessed except in the day-spring of human his- 
tory. The supreme lesson of knowledge is that good and 
evil do not dwell apart, and that to combat the evil, the good 
must seek it out and bear it company. We can not cut off 
the wicked, but we may lessen the springs of iniquity, and so 
gradually diminish their numbers. When each of us takes 
the sins of our next-door neighbor to heart as if they were 
our own, the world will be in a fair way to mend. Not a 
disturbing word was breathed to Christina till Stephana and 
Colette had carried her a hundred miles and more from Va- 
lerian. “I can not see him. Keep him away from me,” 
was the sick woman’s constant cry, for she was sick indeed. 
No bodily distemper ailed her, no physician had to be called 
in ; her malady was a morbid fear of Valerian, and the med- 
icine lay in security from him. 

When at last they reached Torquay, leaving Valerian be- 
hind, she put the question nervously: “Valerian will not 
come ? You are sure of it, Stephana ? ” 

Stephana sat down beside her cousin in the cheerful spa- 
cious drawing-room looking on to the sea, and smiled reprov- 
ingly. “ I have already promised. Do you not think I can 
keep Valerian away ? ” 

“ They say you can do anything you choose,” was the half- 
satisfied reply. “ There are many things you may now do 
for me.” 

“ All as easy as the keeping of poor Valerian away ? ” 

“ They should be, if half what folks say concerning you is 
true.” Miss Hermitage’s eyes looked at Stephana as if fain 
to read her very soul. “ How much is true ? ” she added. 
“ Do you have visions ? Can you foresee what is coming ? 
Have you power to look beyond the grave ? ” 

All these questions, put in Miss Hermitage’s brusque, hard 


disarmed: 


127 


way, took Stephana fairly by surprise. She was silent for a 
little breathing space, then made quiet reply : 

“ Visions, foreshadowings, insight into futurity What are 
they, indeed, but so many names for spiritual gifts of the less 
common kind? If Psee things that are hidden and myste- 
rious to most, is it not because I have pondered on them 
more ? If I seem at times warned of any rare event about 
to happen, must not such warning spring from intuition, shared 
with the rest of my fellows, only possessed by myself in a 
more marked degree ? And if ” — here she lifted her radiant 
forehead and serenely confronted the peering gaze fixed upon 
her — “ if I do feel at times as if the mystery of the tomb were 
revealed to me, is it not merely saying that I seem to see that 
which I so intensely hope, that which I so implicitly believe 
in ? ” 

“ Stephana ! ” cried the elder woman, eagerly, “ I believe 
in you, although in nothing else. Lift the veil. Life I know. 
Let me understand whatever be the meaning of death ! ” 

Stephana shook her head with a wondrous smile of sad- 
ness, scorn, and pity. 

“ I would willingly accord your request,” she said, “ but 
the eyes that penetrate into the mysterious and the unknown 
must be pure. For what is all mystery but another name 
for God, and who can approach Him without a guileless 
heart ? Peace should be there — love, too, and compassion.” 

“ People can fulfill their duty without love,” retorted Miss 
Hermitage. “ I am ready to do all in my power for Valerian. 
Let him be. But tell me, Stephana, what is this death we all 
talk so much of without understanding? Are you aught 
wiser here than poor little Colette, who believes that the burn- 
ing of candles will save her mother’s soul ? ” 

“ You shall judge for yourself when I can tell you exactly 
what I have been brought to believe,” answered Stephana. 
“ For the present, I can not, I dare not, take you into my 
confidence. Think for a moment. Were I to lead you, as a 
curious child into a stately palace, and to try to explain the 
wonderful and beautiful things I have to show to your inner 
eye (no less clear and bright than those you look on now, 
the blue sea, and the sky, and the shore), how would you fare 
when thus brought face to face with Divine truth and love, 
which are as a near and solemn presence to those who abide 
in them — how would you fare, I say, with this darkness about 
your soul, this hatred in your heart, and for whom — ^your own 
son, your very own, although born — ” 


128 


disarmed: 


“ In shame, but not in sin,” murmured the other, in a low 
voice; Then she added, slowly, “ There was a marriage.” 

Stephana paused, and piercingly, although with angelic 
mildness, gazed on her energumen. For was not this poor 
thing a very demoniac, demon-haunted,^truggling against the 
light of shining truth and goodness ? 

After a brief silence, during which Miss Hermitage moved 
restlessly in her chair, Stephana asked, in a sad, gentle voice : 

“ If, then, no sin, why any shame You say there was a mar- 
riage ? ” 

Again Miss Hermitage turned away from the beautiful 
winter sunlight and the sight of the silvery sea, and tossed 
her head uneasily on the cushions. “ Valerian knows. Va- 
lerian guesses. It is his affair. I want you to talk to me of 
other things,” she moaned, querulously, half crying. 

Stephana looked and listened in a painful state of doubt. 
She did not feel sure that Christina was telling the truth. 

“It is very unkind of you to disoblige me,” she. said, in the 
same pettish tones. “ I have had a great shock. Tt will very 
likely kill me. I do want to know what you think dying is — 
dying — dying ! We talk of it every day, but who knows any- 
thing at all ? ” 

“ I could give you peace would you but give me something 
in exchange,” Stephana made answer. “ You can not have 
quieting thoughts and lovely dreams and celestial visitations 
whilst you nurse an uneasy conscience.” 

“ I am afraid of you, Stephana. Yet what harm can you do 
me ? Why do you gaze as if to read me through and through ? 
What do you want ? ” 

“ Only the truth,” answered Stephana, almost solemnly. 
“This shrinking from Valerian, this unnatural dislike, this 
secrecy of so many years, if, indeed, it is as you say — ” 

“ I am a common woman, but I sinned not the common sin,” 
Christina said at last. “Valerian was born in wedlock.” 
She now sat up in her arm-chair, and spoke rapidly and des- 
perately, as if keenly anxious to unburden herself, as before 
she had been resolute to keep silence. “ You can not judge 
me. Your young life was happier and better than mine. I 
had never any liberty, any love. I was Eve snatching the for- 
bidden fruit. But Colette knows. Colette shall tell you every- 
thing.” 

“ Much is forgiven where love has tempted into wrong-do- 
ing,” said Stephana — “ if you loved indeed.” 

“What is Ipye ? ” asked Miss Herniitage, impatiently.. 


129 


“ D/SAJ^MED. 

“ There is a love born of passion ; that is love like hate. You 
are young ; you may still know a better kind. I never 
shall.” 

“ The love of men and women for each other should be last- 
ing and sweet, but may turn to the bitterness of gall. There 
is other love in the world, and good and comforting it is. 
dTat should be yours now.” 

“ You have Valerian in your mind.' I foTget that you two 
are going to marry. That is why you want me to be kind to 
him, I suppose.” 

“Just to him rather; justice is the best kindness, the only 
kindness I am thinking of.” 

“ Valerian will never forgive me, whatever I do for him 
now — never, never.” 

“ He will, he must forgive,” Stephana replied. “ But tell 
me one thing — why this concealment of so many years if 
Valerian is entitled to his father’s name ? ” 

“The name would have shamed me and him. ’Twas a low 
marriage. That is why. Is not pride the devil’s offspring ? 
Such pride was my father’s and mine.” 

“ Yours was not all the blame, then ! You were constrained 
to this deceit "i ” Stephana asked, with pitying concern. 

Miss Hermitage answered, averting her face : “ All women 
are not idolaters of their children. I suppose, if I had cared 
much about Valerian, I should never have consented to the 
past.” 

Stephana listened in silence, saddening as she heard. 

Christina went on, apologetically : “ Kinsfolk do not love 
each other just because they are kinsfolk. There must be 
something else to draw people together. And what could I 
do 1 My father would have the whole or nothing. How 
could I have supported the child had he cast us off? And 
afterward, when I was free, and my own mistress,” she added, 
insinuatingly, as if here at least one woman must understand 
another, “ there were two reasons for secrecy — pride first, fear 
afterward. I had already served one master — my father. I 
should have had another in Valerian’s father. He died before 
the boy was born, and I knew that Valerian, when his time 
came, would try to lord it over his womankind like the rest. 
Now you have the truth. Are you satisfied? But talk of 
something else. Put Valerian out of my head for a whole 
week, and then I will say that you have not been called siren, 
enchantress, sibyl, and how many more such names for noth- 
ing. Never mind what you say. The words you use always 
9 ■ . 


130 


disarmed: 


make me feel dreamy,” Miss Hermitage added with a grim 
smile. “ Tis like listening to a sermon.” 

Stephana.humored her, and began to talk in a low caressing 
voice that of itself seemed an incantation. Soft witchery was 
in her eyes, now no more retributive, but full of encourage- 
ment and gentle suasions to pure tranquillizing thoughts. A 
deeper spell, however, than musical voice and sweet looks lay 
in Stephana’s words, and by little and little they soothed Chris- 
tina’s spirit, and led it into far-off, visionary tracks. “You 
say,” she began, “ that you are eager for insight into the un- 
seen world and the after-life. But the acme of knowledge is 
only reached by slow and toilsome efforts, and if this is true 
of material things, how much more true must it be of celestial 
ones ? The beginnings of knowledge must be sought for in 
the actual visible world, which we can in a measure grasp, 
and which we abide in. The sunset, the wave, the flower ! 
Learn to understand these as far as it is given to mortal minds 
to understand anything. Then, filled with awe, pity, and love, 
with far-reaching curiosity and reverential thankfulness let us 
turn onr thoughts to the beauty and wonder and completeness 
that lie beyond, and of which these earthly images are but a 
feeble reflex. Who is humble enough to understand Divine 
love, of which life is but one manifestation ? And so it is only 
by humility that we must set out on the quest, and contem- 
plate the worm crawling at our feet, and the globes innumer- 
able shining in space above our heads. Look at this sea-shell, 
lined to our eyes with the most brilliant colors — violet, azure, 
green as a dove’s neck, amber and pale gold, all mingling and 
making a wondrous show. Yet these dazzling hues are no 
blues, yellows, purples at all, and only appear so by virtue of 
a peculiar crystalline formation. We are therefore in presence 
of one kind of beauty which is apparent, but dependent on 
another kind hid from us. Is it not thus with the life seen 
and unseen ? We seem to be what we are, and we take the 
visible world for what it appears to be. Has not every human 
life a double mystery, a twofold existence, the one bright, it 
may be, but ephemeral, the other belonging to the Truth and 
the Being that are eternal ? Break this mother-of-pearl lining. 
The rainbow hues vanish, the laws of symmetry remain ; and 
so with the individual dissolution of the body called death, 
which is independent of the Infinite Life, of which each of us 
is but an emanation.” 

Stephana continued, Christina listening as some artless 
savage to subtle music he does not understand. 


disarmed: 


Soon the low exquisitely modulated voice and the bright 
thoughts and fancies so aptly expressed lulled the sick woman 
into drowsiness and dreams. Soothing was all the medicine 
she needed, and what soothes like a tender voice that speaks 
of far-off beautiful things 'i 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ Our ghost story anon,” said Mr. Constantine, when Ar- 
thura entered his room,’ precisely at twelve of the clock, on 
the third day of the new year. “ I have something to tell 
you, my Prospera. The world is turned topsy-turvy. We 
are all walking on our heads. You and I are a-dreaming like 
our betters.” 

Arthura opened her eyes, although not more astonished 
than usual. Mr. Constantine would be astonishing as long 
as breath was left in his body. 

“ What I No impatient why and wherefore ? No Lord ’a 
mercy, and all good angels save usl ” 

“ The world has always seemed to me topsy-turvy, sir, and 
if people did not walk on their heads would they make so 
many blunders ^ ” asked Arthura. 

“ On my word, a pat answer ever on the tip of her tongue ! 
Walking on the head has not muddled your thoughts, anyhow. 
But the news — the wonderful news ! I really have no breath 
for it all. Well, all kinds of marvels happened on New- 
Year’s Day, The household by the sea is broken up. Va- 
lerian and his rich patroness have parted company. He is 
coming to make his way in London.” 

Arthura listened now, all expectation. Her fresh girlish 
trust in Valerian was not clouded. He might be going to 
many Stephana in the eyes of the world, but he was her own 
Valerian tor all that. Love makes two people belong to each 
other forever, thought Arthura, and so think most lovers and 
maidens at twenty-four. 

“ I have not told you half the news yet,” Mr. Constantine 
added. “ The most important part of it was confided to me 
in strictest secrecy. Can you keep a secret, my dear ? ” 

“ No, indeed, sir ; the gist of a secret lies in the telling.” 

“ ’Tis a dead secret, then ; but, on my life, I can’t help tell- 
ing you. I am tired, however ; I will wait till the morrow. 
By-the-way, where do you get your ghost stories ? ” 


132 


disarmed:^ 


“ Ghosts run in my family, sir, and my step-mother has 
taught me several. She has an especial affection for this.” 

“ Admirable woman ! Would I had such a step-mother ! 
Well, for your story. Be your ghost freakish, pranky, benign, 
hair-bristling, horrid, he is welcome. Come in, good ghost. 
I bid you good-morrow, kind ghost. We wait for you.” 

If Arthufa excelled in the art of telling ghost stories, it was 
as Mr. Constantine’s pupil. He had fashioned her to the 
business, first by showing her how tales of wonder should be 
read, and next by showing her how they should be narrated. 
Arthura was guileless of book-learning, but her apt, eager, 
audacious young mind must have some aliment, and she 
found it here. The supernatural, the marvellous, the un- 
known, were to her what ordinary love stories, boarding- 
school music, and clerical slipper-making are to those young 
ladies as yet outside the intellectual regions of wranglerships 
or the classical tripos. So she had thrown heart and soul 
into her new vocation, amazed herself no less than her in- 
structor by the new powers thus developed. 

“ A most ingratiating ghost ! a most sociable, unceremoni- 
ous ghost ! We’ll ask for his company another day. Now 
take up those wondrous little forest stories from Germany. 
Read about the ancient bride who on her marriage morn was 
enticed away by a wizard of beautiful appearance, and when 
he let her go from his enchanted garden she found every one 
staring at her with amazement, as well they might. She had 
been away a hundred years ! Open the book where you like. 
’Tis all fascination, mystery, and wonder.” 

Arthura did as she was bidden ; but ere she had read a 
page, the old man said : 

“ You may leave off, my Prospera. I am not lucid to-night. 
I feel already in the land of shadows you have so beautifully 
brought before me. And soon I shall be one of them — but 
not too soon ! Why do we live so long ? ” he continued, 
after a pause. “ Be warned, my Prospera : die young; die in 
the full favor of your friends and the world, or inherit five 
thousand a year. Old age is a luxury for the rich to indulge 
in only. Remember the worst line ever penned by a great 
poet, 

‘ Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.’ 

We must buy ’em all when we begin to tumble to pieces — 
eyesight, feet to walk on, esprit ; and if we can’t buy a diges- 
tion, like the man in the story, meats are to be had requiring 


D/s armed: 


* 133 


none. But age and penury, decrepitude and forlorn ness — ’tis 
a picture to melt the gods to compassion.’’ He raised his 
head and looked at Arthura with an odd smile. “ People for 
the most part take too much trouble about keeping the breath 
of life in them. As if life for the mere sake of life were 
worth a pinch of salt ! But the manner of life whilst we are 
in our prime, how many does that concern ? When the tools 
fall from our hands, let us make way for our betters, I say. 
You are young, and shall greet many a sunrising, but ’tis time 
for me to wrap myself in my cloak and turn my face to the 
wall. God bless me ! And now good-night, my dear ; I can 
sleep, I think. Rest you well.” 

Arthura stole quietly out of the chamber, although little 
disposed to close her own eyes. What, indeed, had she to 
do with sleep after such news 1 Valerian no longer his kins- 
woman’s dependent. Valerian manfully making his own way 
in the world, seemed twice, threefold, her own. She realized 
in a moment, as she thought, the effect of these welcome dis- 
asters not only on her lover’s worldly prospects, but on his 
love for herself. The necessity for self-reliance and his very 
isolation must draw them nearer together, reasoned the gen- 
erous girl, ever judging of the springs of action in others by 
her own. Could this change mean anything else but the ful- 
fillm-ent of happy common dreams, a sweet home, and toil 
mutually shared, daily fare made romantic and beautiful be- 
cause it belonged to two ? 

When at last she did sleep it was to dream sweetly, and 
next day when she set off as usual to help Steppie with the 
housekeeping and the children’s lessons, it was with a beam- 
ing face. To her great astonishment, Steppie, who met her 
at the railway station, wore a beaming face also. ' She not 
only smiled, she actually indulged in a near approach to a 
laugh. “ Dear little mamma, has Aunt Fanny sent each of 
the children a Sunday suit ? ” asked Arthura. 

“ Oh, Arthura, why am I so much more wicked than other 
people ? I ought to be weeping and wailing in a darkened 
room.” Here she did indeed break down and give a genuine 
sob. “ Aunt Fanny will never send the children any more 
new frocks.” Another sob. “ Aunt Fanny’s gone to heaven.” 
Then the tears ceased to flow, and the pale, pretty, care-worn 
face brightened again. “ Aunt Fanny has left me a thousand 
pounds.” 

“ Kind Aunt Fanny ! You will be so much happier now,” 
Arthura said 


134 * 


disarmed: 


“ No ; I shall be more comfortable, but not happier ; instead, 
more miserable. Think how heartless of me to be able to 
rejoice at such a moment ! ” 

“ But you are rejoicing over the thousand pounds, not over 
your Aunt Fanny’s death. I am sure you are as sorry as can 
be.” 

“ That I am,” said poor Steppie, wiping her eyes. “ And, 
oh, Arthura, I shall never forgive myself for not having fin- 
ished those mitts I was knitting as a Christmas gift. There 
was a dense fog on the day I wanted to buy more silk, and I 
dreaded going out in it, and now poor Aunt Fanny ” — here 
she began sobbing again — “ will never have her black silk 
mitts — never ! never ! ” 

“You must comfort yourself with the thought that she does 
not want them,” Arthura made reply. She had never seen 
Aunt Fanny in her life. 

“ Nor does she want the thousand pounds. That ought to 
be a comfortable thought too,” poor Steppie said. “But how 
I wish she had left me the legacy and gone on living all the 
same ! There is always something to spoil our enjoyment in 
the world.” 

“We must not be on the watch for it, then,” Arthura re- 
plied, cheerfully. “ We should have had eyes in the back of 
our heads had Providence intended us to see everything at 
once. You can not bring Aunt Fanny back again, but you 
can so use her money as to make us all happier by seeing you 
so.” 

“ Oh, Arthura, I was never more miserable in my life ! ” 

“ But people can be happy and miserable at the same mo- 
ment ; and just think what a comfort this money will be ! Mr. 
Constantine shall advise us as to the investment. You will 
be quite rich.” 

“ Am I the most selfish being in the world ? ” cried Steppie, 
indignantly. “Every penny you have spent on me and the 
poor children shall now be repaid you. Then your poor papa’s 
debts — they are mine as well as yours.” 

“ We will settle everything by-and-by,” Arthura said. “ You 
shall do exactly as I like, and I will do exactly as you like. 
That is the way to settle quarrels.” 

Then they reached the house. What an abode of content 
and animation now that Arthura was a daily visitant ! No 
niore gloom, monotony, plaints ; all vivacity, freshness, grace. 
Thus will a bright spirit transform a dark place. 

“ Kisses first and lessons afterward,” cried the boy Walter, 


DISARMED." 


135 


throwing his arms round his step-sister’s necK, and kissing 
her again and again. 

“ Buns first and lessons afterward,” cried Benjamme in her 
turn, laying a nefarious hand on Arthura’s cloak pocket. 
Gentlest, most docile creature imaginable, she as yet resem- 
bled those little animals so low in the stage of development 
as to consist of a mere sac and an orifice — skin and stomach 
only. 

“Arthura,” said Walter, “when you have taught me all 
you know, will you let me go to sea } ” 

“ Why can not you be content to stay with mother and 
Arthura and little sisters ? ” asked Steppie, reproachfully. 

“ Because you will love me twice as much when I am a sea 
captain,” cried the boy. “ And I want to come home with a 
red face and a purseful of money, and see all the people 
throwing up their windows to look at me as I strut up the 
Street.” 

Ben j amine laughed immoderately, Steppie called to order, 
and spelling and sums were begun. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Valerian took possession of his new quarters in about as 
uncomfortable a frame of mind as was possible for any hu- 
man being to be. Eveiything had gone wrong, yet he felt 
obliged to confess that everything had gone according to his 
wishes. He had pl^ed a desperate game, and worsted his 
adversary. He was not only master of the position, but 
master of himself, free to go whither he willed, to do as he 
would with his life. All these facts he repeated to himself 
again and again, but they failed to bring re-assurance. 
Whichever way he looked, he saw himself hemmed round by 
problems and obstructions ; no straight open path anywhere. 
His best friends in the world were these three — Christina, 
Stephana, Arthura. How was he requiting their friendship ? 
A letter from Stephana lay on the writing-table, and he sat 
down to answer it as to a heavy task. It was the kind, confi- 
dential letter that any woman would write to a dear friend ; 
the style could not be displeasing to him, but the gist of it 
lay in a question he found impossible to answer. 

How had he obtained ' a knowledge of the facts on which 
his play was based ? asked Stephana. Was it mere supposi^ 


D/SARMEDr 


136 

tion ? Had he drawn inferences only and' acted on them, or 
were the data actually in his possession, and if so, how 
came they there — honestly or by fraud ? Stephana’s question 
was not framed thus, but so it shaped itself to Valerian’s un- 
easy mind ; and long he sat, pen in hand, unable to indite a 
syllable. The explanation forced upon him must be easier 
by letter than by word of mouth, and he knew it was inevita- 
ble. Yet he hesitated. When at last he put pen to paper, 
his mind underwent one of those curious phases not uncom- 
mon with those who are ever moved by two impulses. Va- 
lerian always intended to follow the straight course, but 
could not help reasoning himself into the advisability, even 
necessity, of the crooked. He wanted to have Stephana’s 
confidence and sympathy at any price, and at first he said to 
himself that this should be paid even at the risk of self- 
abasement. Stephana should know the truth, and nothing 
but the truth. Words, however, on paper have a hard look. 
They put us out of countenance sooner than the same con- 
fession made by speech ; and so the first page was torn, and 
the second, and the third, and when the fourth was begun 
not a trace of the original letter remained. Style and sub- 
stance were remodelled till both became unrecognizable from 
the original copy. Valerian, in the first instance, had set 
out with the intention of adhering to the unvarnished truth, 
but finally ended in romancing. The first page, however, con- 
tained verity. 

“ You will most likely be astonished to learn,” he wrote, 
“ that the earliest notion of my possible relation to Christina 
arose from a consciousness of antipathy, the kind of anti- 
pathy that belongs to nearness of kin — indeed, that arises 
from nearness of kin. Why should people not nearly related 
ever dislike each other ? There are a dozen reasons why 
those of the same blood should do so. They see their own 
frailties and defects, mental as well as physical, reflected, oft- 
en distorted, as in a mirror. They cannot get rid of a per- 
petual monitor, or at least reminder, of what they would fain 
forget. If the shining qualities predominate, a sense of 
comparison is evoked no less painful than self-criticism. So 
it w as with Christina and myself. The shining qualities were 
not there, certainly, but others as forcibly challenging com- 
parison. I was serviceable to my protectress — nay, essential 
to her comfort — and she always showed consideration and 
open-handed generosity to me, for which I am not ungrateful. 
There was never any pretence of affection between us. 


disarmed:' 


137 


“ The truth, or the probable truth, having once flashed 
across my mind, a thousand circumstances seemed to confirm 
it. I knew that-one person, and one only, was in Christina’s 
confidence. Colette might — must — know, but Colette wbuld 
never tell. Her attitude was always that of a mediator be- 
tween her patroness and myself. She would give affront 
twenty times a day by interference on my behalf, always of 
a conciliatory nature, and always in matters of little moment. 
She had evidently made up her mind that at some future 
time, and by dint of her own efforts, Christina and I should 
become attached to each other. I could not help remarking 
this, and it seemed to me, viewed by the light of a steadily 
growing conviction, evidence of secret remorse on Colette’s 
part. She herself felt concerned in the wrong that had been 
done me, and hoped to make amends. But for some such 
feeling, why her apologetic behavior, her reiterated media- 
tions, her supererogation of friendly offices } It is my firm be- 
lief that the kindly little French woman often remonstrated 
with her mistress in secret, and that I formed the only sub- 
ject of contention between them. Christina would not love 
me enough, and Colette could not make her. Another point 
struck me ; Colette never seemed satisfied with our mistress’s 
liberality toward myself. She seemed — so at least I began 
to fancy — as if I ought to be treated like the master of the 
house, as if I ought rather to share than serve the rich Miss 
Hermitage’s fortune. In trifling matters Colette would put 
in a word. Mr. Valerian should have his riding-horse ; Mr. 
Valerian should have his valet. I could not be made too 
much of, she seemed to think. We were always on the best 
of terms, Colette and I, and in our free and easy conversa- 
tions of many years she had dropped statements I now turned 
to account. 

“ I gathered that one conspicuous incident, and one only, 
had broken the monotony of Christina’s past life. This was 
a quarrel with her father, and an absence following it of many 
months from home. Concerning this quarrel Colette was 
extremely reticent. The pair of friends, the Squire’s daugh- 
ter and her companion, had traveled for more than a year. 
Where did they go ? How did they occupy themselves ? 
Such questions Colette would ever answer vaguely and with 
evident reluctance. Yet at times she would advert to this 
epoch as if it had especial charms for her, and as if she were 
compelled to do so against her will. Was it that she felt 
the burden of a secret ? Was it that she would fain have 


38 


DISARMED: 


spoken out but dared not ? One or two hints she did let 
fall of a love affair, of Christina’s determination to marry 
against the Squire’s will, of a final reconciliation. She named 
no names in conjunction with this love affair, but on former 
occasions had often mentioned a personage whom I could 
but associate with it. This was the riding-master of the pair, 
who, somehow or other, Colette could not seem to get out of 
her head, although he was never alluded to in her mistress’s 
presence. My suspicions were aroused here, and I felt that 
I had a clew. Knowing as I did the character of the daugh- 
ter, and of the father also, I put these things together till a 
coherent story shaped itself in my mind — a runaway marriage, 
an after-confession, a final sacrifice of maternal feeling to 
pride, and for the rest silence. But you will say there was 
a third voice that must have made itself heard if these suspi- 
cions were true. The lover, the husband, the father of the 
_Q.hild, where was he You may be sure I had pondered on 
this often, and many a time had tried to elicit some inadver- 
tent explanation by throwing Colette off her guard. It was 
only by chance, however, that I learned more. She had 
been ailing from what French women call a nervous attack, 
and I overheard her murmur to herself that ‘ never since 
getting the news of Henry’s sudden death had she suffered 
from such palpitations.’ By the name of Henry she had al- 
ways called the riding-master.” 

So far Valerian’s explanations were genuine, but he knew 
that more would be required to satisfy Stephana. He added, 
now writing desperately, letting the words do with him as 
they would : 

“ I have no proofs to give you. Had proofs been in my 
possession, should I have acted as I did ? There would 
have been no necessity for shift and stratagem. Do not 
blame, therefore, but rather pity me for being driven to such 
extremities ; and what is more — yes, Stephana, I say it for 
once and for all — you are said to possess subtle fascinations 
over your fellow-creatures. Use them now. Exorcise two 
evil spirits : reconcile me to my mother if you can. 

“ Valerian.” 

But what if Valerian had added a postscript hinting at be- 
trayed confidence and violated trust, private documents 
surreptitiously handled, and secret places pried into ? For 
Valerian had told a part of the truth only. The basis of his 
play had been a fragmentary journal in Colette’s hand-writ- 


“ disarmed: 


139 


ing, and of that diary and the means by which he had 
obtained access to it he said never a word. The Molly, the 
Letty, the sire, the swain, of Valerian’s idyllic play all lived 
in these sentimental pages, penned for her own satisfaction, 
and as a relief to outward secrecy, by a girl, more than thirty 
years before. The outline of the story, with some reserva- 
tion, was there. He had but hazarded the sequel, put in a 
few details, and made of the scattered incidents a consistent 
whole. On the other hand, might not Valerian have urged 
on his own behalf that he had combated fraud with fraud, 
and forced his way as the owner of stolen treasure into the 
thief’s house ? His birthright had been filched from him. 
Was he not justified in using any means to wrench it from the 
hands of those who held it back ? All these arguments, and 
many more. Valerian might have put before Stephana, pas- 
sionately, vindictively, maybe unanswerably. Because he 
dreaded a shadow of discredit he held his peace when it 
most behooved him to speak. In Stephana’s eyes, at least, 
his conduct should appear flawless. 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 

The ink had not dried on the page, and Valerian lingered, 
seal in hand, when a clear, joyous voice called his name. 
How may a word find a soul’s depth, as a pebble the well’s 
bottom ! In a moment he felt conscious of himself — that 
hidden self, dark and unfathomable to other eyes. It was 
but his own name he heard, and a maiden uttering it. Yet 
he stood still, hesitating painfully. 

“ Valerian ! Valerian ! ” again exclaimed Authura, no cloud 
on her brow, no uncertainty in her movements. The true, 
transparent nature shone out of her steadfast eyes and be- 
trayed itself in her welcoming smile. An apparition, an 
apparition of joy and beauty, she seemed as she stood thus, 
an impersonation of the daring maidenly love that thinketh 
no evil. 

There was wintriness in the heavens and in the air, but 
the warm carnation of her lips and cheek, and the touches of 
bright color relieving her dress, cheered the place if they 
could not cheer Valerian’s heart. Undismayed by his silence 
. — attributing it, indeed, to overjoyed surprise — she now 
moved to thd writing-table by which he was standing. Then, 


140 


“ disarmed:' 


with indescribable, almost infantine satisfaction, she unclosed 
her palm and dropped several bank-notes onto his writing-case. 
Each was crumpled, for, regarding them as far too precious to 
consign to purse or pocket, she had brought her treasure from 
one end of London to the other in her hands. 

“ Count these notes,” she said, blushing with pride and 
pleasure. “There are one, two, three fifty-pound notes. It 
is my whole worldly fortune, and I make it over to you.” 

Still crimsoning with delight, she bent over the paper mon- 
ey, fondling each by turn as if in those symbols she was 
deciphering Valerian’s future weal and her own. The mere 
suspicion that her lover was not at one with her, and that 
boundless confidence no longer existed between them, as in 
the matchless French days, never entered into her mind. It 
must be with Valerian as with herself. Once more together, 
the ills of separation were surely as if they had never been. 
Her heart must open to his, and his thoughts commune freely 
with her own. Love made them artless and trusting as 
children who have singled each other out for comradeship. 

She babbled on blithely : “ I had hoarded up this money 
for the remainder of papa’s debts, but my step-mother has 
had a little fortune left her, and insists on paying the debts 
herself. So I have a hundred and fifty pounds for my poor 
Valerian. Mr. Constantine tells me you have come to Lon- 
don to make your way; you will need money. You will not 
refuse my little all ? But what is the matter? ” 

She uttered the last words suddenly seized with consterna- 
tion. She was now looking him full in the face, all the glow 
and gaysomeness faded from her own, all her painful entreaty 
told without a word. He stooped down and kissed her pure 
forehead. What a kiss ! Arthura felt chilled by it to the 
very veins. No words could have so utterly disconcerted her. 
Reading that expression of dismay once more, once more he 
bent down and touched her candid brow with his lips, Ar- 
thura waiting pale and expectant as one to whom the next 
moment may bring sentence. 

“ You should not have brought me your money,” he said 
at last, looking as spiritless and unhappy as herself. He 
added, slowly, “ And you should not have come.” 

It was the first time Arthura had ever been directly re- 
proached by Valerian, and the truth began to dawn upon her 
painfully. Her best friend was angry, nay, affronted with 
her. Tears of vexation rose to her eyes, and her cheeks crim- 
soned again, this time from shame and indignation. She 


disarmed:' 


141 

might have done wrong, but Valerian of all others had the 
least right to blame. 

“ We are not in France, remember, dearest,” he went on. 
“ There are things a young lady may do, and things she may 
not do. You have acted generously, but without taking 
thought.” 

“ I only wanted to be kind,” murmured Arthura. 

“ Kind ! kind ! ” cried Valerian, running his fingers des- 
perately through his hair. “ First be kind to yourself. We 
are not in Madame Henri’s drawing-room at Nantes. What 
would my friends think if they chanced to call and found you 
here ? ” 

It was a brusque, even brutal speech, yet Arthura could 
but acknowledge the truth of it. She realized the unwelcome 
conviction at once. Her conduct was not only inconsequent, 
but wanting in maidenly reserve. Where, however, was the 
love that should have risen up as an advocate ? where the ten- 
derness that should have pardoned all for the sake of the mo- 
tive She rose proudly to go, no playful vindication on her 
lips now, no arch remonstrance in her eyes. 

“Pardon me, a thousand pardons, my darling,” Valerian 
said, hurriedly and apologetically, evidently anxious to get the 
interview over. “ I will come and see you in your home. I 
will tell you everything. Forgive me if I express myself 
plainly. I thank you heartily for your generous intentions. 
But you should not have come. It was wrong of me to let 
you go on that holiday trip to France. We must become cir- 
cumspect in the future. We must have some regard to the 
world.” 

The world ! Arthura stood still with sealed lips and a pale, 
anguish-stricken face. For a stronger, more cruel light played 
on the reality now, and brought it home to her. Not for the 
first time to-day had she fallen below Valerian’s standard. 
He had, then, been dissatisfied with her a year ago without 
ever saying a word ! She thought she could understand that 
part of his conduct hitherto mysterious, the long interval be- 
tween letter and letter, the silence as to his changed fortunes, 
the chilling reception of to-day, the spoken, and what was 
hardest of all to bear, the implied reproach. 

That little word with which Valerian’s sentence finished 
seemed to rise up as a wall between them. The world] 
What but the world had divided them from the beginnipg .? 
What but the world prompted Valerian’s unkindness now? 
Might not the world end by separating them more and more, 


142 


disarmed: 


and wearing away their love for each other ? Her quick, im- 
patient mind went farther. She thought she could date every 
change in Valerian’s behavior from that French holiday, and 
recollected happiness rose up as a Nemesis to smite her 
now. 

She was but justly punished for having loved too well. 
She looked at him, no longer, as she deemed, her adoring 
lover and closest friend in the wide world ; rather her judge 
and discommender. At last she said, very quietly and pa- 
thetically, her mind full of the lost trustingness and joy and 
hope, and of the present blank and uncertainty : “ I know 
that I ought not to have gone on that holiday excursion with 
you. But, never let any one blame me except yourself. I 
could not bear it.” 

She went on, struggling now not with tears, but an agita- 
tion deeper still : 

“ If my step-mother and the children should ever hear of it, 
I mean. You made me promise to say nothing of our en- 
gagement to them. And now, if they should hear what I have 
done, and that you blame me for it ! ” 

She paused, as Valerian thought, on the verge of sobs, and, 
wishing to comfort her, he took her hands in his own and 
clasped them close. But the action did not soothe, it only 
served to heighten the contrast in Arthura’s mind. There 
had been a time when Valerian adored her, and now ! 

And a thought flashed across her mind that made her brain 
reel and her knees tremble. What if evil report did reach 
the ears of Steppie and the children ! What if they should 
discover the truth, the baleful truth she saw as plain as day 
and believed in ! 

She had been very dear to Valerian, but he loved her no 
longer ; she had not only forfeited his love, but his esteem. 

“ I am the stay of the house,” she went on. “ It would 
break their hearts to have me thought ill of.” 

A deep blush burned on her cheek for a moment, leaving 
her paler than before, and the last words which rang in Va- 
lerian’s ears for days after were rather a cry of desolation 
than an appeal to him. 

“ Oh, Walter ! Walter 1 Walter must never know,” she 
cried. Then she slid down by the side of Valerian’s chair for a 
few moments, sobbing bitterly, unconscious of the cruel world 
outside her little brother’s adoring love. Her passion of grief 
over, what could Valerian do but entreat forgiveness ? She 
was his own, his very own, he said. All would come right 


disarmed: 


143 


with them in time. She must love him a thousand times 
more fondly than ever. 

The smiter in his turn was smitten. Valerian’s conscience 
did indeed reproach him for the ill-considered words of a 
quarter of an hour ago. Arthura let him whisper what he 
would in her ear, let him clasp her passive hand, then went 
away without a smile or a word. They could never more be 
to each other as they once had been. She felt it to be su- 
preme valediction. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Stephana had now reached a crisis in her singular career. 
She awaited a mandate from the unseen world as confidently 
as those who live according to ordinary methods look for the 
usual deliverance from a dilemma, expecting, maybe, the in- 
terference of happy chance, maybe a wise counsel of friend, 
or lastly a clearer understanding on their own part. To Ste- 
phana no such solution suggested itself. She should be duly 
enlightened, but neither from within nor without, as far as the 
actual world and her own individual life were concerned. The 
voice, inaudible to others, would reach her obsequious ears 
from afar. The monition would come from no earthly coun- 
selor. 

Looking back and recollecting every incident that linked 
the present with the departure from Italy, she could under- 
stand why the last strange summons should have come in 
the name of Valerian. What an errand was hers ! To force 
a lie into the light from a darkness in which it had been hid 
for years, to bring, as she felt she must and should, mother 
and son together, to sway two mundane natures to her will, 
and touch their careless spirits to finer issues : here, indeed, 
was .a mission that might well claim her life for a time. But 
for a time only. Stephana looked far beyond the horizon of 
an existence that should mean fireside concord and a perfect 
harmony between Christina, Valerian, and herself. When 
the looked-for reconcilement had been brought about between 
these two, and her own relations with Valerian determined 
for once and for all, then, and not till then, should she begin 
to live indeed. 

Her soul exulted and her heart danced as she contemplated 
this prospect, for she saw now how her supreme wishes and 


144 


disarmed: 


most cherished ideals might one by one be realized. Unworldly 
though she was, she knew well enough that wealth is the key 
to most doors, and that the would-be regenerator of his age 
and benefactor of his kind must possess not only Will, but 
Power, the spirit to stir the few, and the material force to 
move the many. She was already rich, Christina was richer 
still, and their combined fortunes would form a mighty engine 
indeed, if only Valerian could be taught to work it aright. 
Sitting down deliberately to count up the aggregate of Chris- 
tina’s fortune and her own, Stephana’s eyes grew almost 
supernaturally bright, and her pale cheeks glowed with exul- 
tation. Could she only sway Christina and Valerian to her 
purpose, not one of the magnanimous schemes she had 
dreamed of need be given up. The accumulated hoardings 
of the Hermitage-Gossip house would at last be appropriated 
to noble uses. One chapter of their family history, and that 
a sordid one, would be thus closed forever, and a shining page 
begun. “ I do believe your riches burden you as much as 
an evil conscience. It is no crime to be born a millionaire ! ” 

Miss Hermitage had often made this remark to Stephana, 
and in a measure it was true. The enormous and for the 
most part idly squandered wealth of her kinsfolk did lie like 
a heavy weight on Stephana’s mind. She could not charge 
herself with undue softness and luxurious living, and Mr. 
Constantine’s money had served the public weal rather 
than his own interests. But the expensive, the lavish Chris- 
tina ! The wine that sparkled in her crystal, the out- 
landish cates that furnished her table, the gauds, the frivolities, 
the merry-making from day to day ! Such a spectacle filled 
her with a feeling akin to despair. And although she ex- 
uberated now in the thought that this had come to an end, and 
that at least Christina’s life would never be child’s play any 
more, she could not yet see how all the rest that she hoped 
for was to come to pass. How was this hard nature to be 
made malleable, this iron will to be subdued ? But Christina 
at one with her; Christina moved to an unselfish or single- 
minded impulse ! Then Stephana’s own path as a social 
reformer would be smoothed, and not one of her bright 
dreams but might be realized. 

Two immediate purposes, therefore, at this moment occupied 
Stephana’s thoughts. She must first reach Christina’s con- 
science, then touch her heart ; begin by reconciling her with 
God, and end by reconciling her with Valerian. All as yet 
was dark about her path ; Christina was feeble, fretful, yield- 


disarmed: 


HS 


ing in small things, but unapproachable on the subject of her 
private affairs and Valerian. For the first time in her life 
Stephana failed to fascinate and influence as she willed. That 
strange power exercised by her over her fellows, and hitherto 
regarded by all who knew her as irresistible, seemed inert or 
inadequate. Less the power than the will, indeed, was with 
Stephana now. She felt strangely alienated from her kins- 
woman, just when excessive pitifulness would have served her 
purpose better. One of those subtle antipathies witnessed 
among blood relations was at work here, and, do what she 
would, Stephana could not wholly overcome it. Then it came 
about that her eyes seemed cold, her voice unsympathetic 
to Christina. The wondrously insinuating sweetness and 
soothingness that had always appeared part of Stephana’s self 
were gone, and a certain pensiveness had overtaken her. The 
cheerfulness, the animation, the subdued fire of other days 
were vanished also. 

“ We are all very dull,” said Miss Hermitage one day. “ I 
do wish, Stephana, you would persuade your blind friend Mr. 
Markham to accompany Colette and myself to Italy. Italy 
always amuses me, and Mr. Markham is poor. He would con- 
sent, I feel sure.” 

Stephana suddenly became her old sportive, seductive self. 
“ Dear Christina,” she said, seating herself at her cousin’s 
feet, and holding her hands, “ will you let me cozen you into 
one thing, a very little thing for you .? Mr. Markham will 
do anything I ask him. But I must be bribed into the ask- 
ing.” 

“ You want money out of me for what you call your causes,” 
Miss Hermitage replied, smiling ironically. “Well, how 
much ? A hundred pounds ? ” 

“ The cost of one of your gala gowns — a few exotics ! Is 
Mr. Markham’s company worth no more ? ” Stephana contin- 
ued, still gay and genial. “ No, cousin, a hundred pounds is 
so small a sum to you that it is not worth bargaining for. 
What I want now is no more nor less than five thousand 
pounds.” 

“ You are dreaming ! ” Christina retorted, with scorn. 
“ Much good would five thousand pounds do in your hands ! 
Philanthropy does no good. We see this every day. The 
more rich people give away, the more poor ones there are.” 

“ There are other things to be given away besides soup 
tickets and flannel petticoats,” Stephana replied, in her turn 
caustic and bitter. “ Though I do not know that money is 

lO 


146 


disarmed: 


worse squandered on these than on strawberries at Christ- 
mas,” she added, with a playful scorn. “Then you will not 
give me five thousand pounds ?” 

“ You are dreaming,” was the ironical reply. “ But to be 
serious. Write to Mr. Markham. Make the proposal to 
him. I must have him in Italy.” 

But Stephana shook her head. 

“ It is really very unkind of you, Stephana,” said Miss 
Hermitage, fretfully. “ You really seem to take pleasure in 
thwarting me, although you are amiable to every one else. 
I will write to Constantine, then. He can surely find some 
one entertaining and clever to go with us to Italy.” 

“ You will not think me unkind when you know everything,” 
Stephana answered. “ I can not tell you yet.” 

“Always dark and oracular! Well, Colette shall have 
my trunk packed, and off we will go by ourselves. This hum- 
drum life is killing me.” 

No more was said. Preparations were made for the Ital- 
ian journey, and it seemed to Stephana that all chance of 
the desired reconciliation was over, at least for a time. The 
travelers proposed to start in a few days, not to return till 
the spring, and where then would they find Valerian? Not 
in England, certainly, thought Stephana; and as she pondered 
on what had just taken place, the first strange phase of the 
life she had planned by Valerian’s side wore a look of com- 
fort. Under no large Southern stars and warm azure skies, 
amid no orange and lemon groves, should their days be 
spent, islanded from ice and frost and common cares. A 
hard lot for a while must they lead, yet as she pictured it 
now her heart bounded. At least there would be sympathy 
in that home in store for her, the serviceableness born of joy 
and gratitude. The devotion that breathed through every 
line of Valerian’s letters augured well for the future. He 
loved her, and she could only give a hearty affection in re- 
turn. But had either of them a right to be dissatisfied with 
such a compact ? The best part of life is made up of thought 
and deed, not sentiment, held Stephana. 

“ I have had my romance, my delusion. He insists on 
having his. ’Twere hard were we not henceforth able to 
leave off dreaming, and live indeed.” 


disarmed: 


*47 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

It was the eve of Christina’s departure. The trunks were 
packed. The courier had arrived. The paragon of a cice- 
rone found by Mr. Constantine was expected every moment. 
At noon the next day the little party, consisting of half a 
dozen persons, would be on the road. 

Miss Hermitage had not been so enterprising since the oc- 
currences of New-Year’s Day. She still liked travel for travel’s 
sake. Novelty in the most ordinary circumstance diverted 
her. A prospect pleased, if for no other reason, because she 
gazed on it for the first time. The serving-maids who waited 
on her for a day only were always delightful. 

Unaccustomed meats, irrespective of quality, tickled her 
palate. In fact, like many another, she would have declared 
life perfect if no day ever resembled its predecessor. The 
mere prospect of getting away from England, even now, was 
alone enough to put her in spirits. She was leaving Stephana 
and Valerian behind, and in Italy there would be no embodi- 
ments of Conscience and Retribution. There her history, 
past and present, could concern no one. In whatever deli- 
cious place she might halt, she was but one rich woman more, 
to be welcomed and pampered and bent knee to accordingly. 
Travel, if it does nothing else for us, at least brings out the 
amiable aspect of money. Wit, beauty, distinction, all out- 
ward insignia, vanish. We are mere money-spenders, not 
men or women, hardly human beings. 

Picturing to herself all the pleasant little nothings that 
were now to be her daily portion. Miss Hermitage was sud- 
denly discomposed by one of those phenomenal storms that 
happen from time to time in midwinter, sleet and hail coming 
close upon thunder and lightning, and a lurid sky and heavy 
air oppressing us when the logs crackle on the hearth. Miss 
Hermitage could never relish storms. She liked nature, as 
well as human kind, to be always in a bright, careless mood. 
A summer tempest in February seemed, moreover, so abnor- 
mal as to prognosticate evil haps. There were the cold white 
flakes falling and the lightning ablaze at the same moment, 
whilst the iciness of the atmosphere was suddenly turned to 
sultriness and languor. 

“ I am suffocating. Will no one relieve me by opening the 
window } ” she cried, fretfully. 

Colette and the maids flew to do her behest, but it was 


148 


disarmed: 


beyond their power. A wild wind sent the sleet swirling 
madly in all directions, and drove it through every aperture 
into the room. It was necessary to make the windows doubly 
secure. Some dire mischief seemed imminent. Not only 
the especial congeries of buildings in which they lived, but 
the whole town, seemed threatened by the storm. Wind and 
thunder, hail and waves — for the sea was in hearing — made 
up a horrid tumult, whilst the vivid flashes of lightning but 
heightened the prevailing gloom. It was broad daylight, yet 
it was night. The dog-days had come in winter. 

Miss Hermitage knew no fear, but the storm perturbed her, 
and gave a sensation of eeriness. She could not shake 
olf the rustic superstitiousness in which she had been brought 
up, and which ever associated phenomenal occurrences with 
especial interpositions of the Divine displeasure. This ter- 
rific hurricane she knew could but be working all kinds of 
disaster by land and sea, and why should it happen just when 
she was on the point of hiding herself from conscience and 
duty, fleeing from these to lazy pleasures ? Must there not 
be some visitation here, some portent pointed at herself ? 
The rocking of this solidly built house on its very foundations, 
the din and clatter within, the elemental hurly-burly without, 
not frightening her in themselves, inspired a terror of another 
kind. The voice of the thunder reached her inner ear. The 
lightning endowed her with spiritual vision. Yes, she saw it 
now. Stephana was right. She had been wicked toward 
Valerian. She must make atonement. It was characteristic 
of Christina that such thoughts should not have troubled her 
till now, and that so long as she felt her secret absolutely 
safe she was in no wise concerned herself about the sin. It 
happened in her case as it often will, that the verdict of others 
made the wrong-doing apparent, and brought conviction to 
the culprit. She had seen her conduct in its proper light by 
the aid of Stephana’s rebuke. Yet until now, although hu- 
miliated and put out of countenance by good opinions for- 
feited and daily existence unhinged, the lapse in itself had 
brought no contrition. The unpleasant consequences lost to 
sight, she should go on living after the old plan, she said to 
herself, and the world would be as easy and agreeable as if 
there were no Valerian in it. 

Swiftly and unawares, however, by means not of human 
suasion or interference, but, as she interpreted it, an awful 
monition of nature, she was troubled with a feeling akin to 
remorse. She should start for Italy on the morrow all the 


^^DISARMEDr 


149 


same ; she felt no qualms of conscience at quitting Valerian 
without a word of advice ; but she would make some sort of 
satisfaction to Stephana. All the money she wanted, as Miss 
Hermitage supposed, for Valerian, she should have, and that 
ungrudgingly. “ Where is Stephana ? Will no one bring 
Stephana to me ? 

The query was made in a pettish voice again and again, 
but without response. The appalling nature of the storm, in- 
deed, and its extraordinary grandeur as a spectacle, were oc- 
cupying the minds of her household. The men had so far 
forgotten decorum as to quit their posts and seek some better 
vantage-ground out-of-doors ; the women had separated into 
detachments, the timid hiding themselves in the .cellars, the 
valorous watching the lightning on the sea from the attics. 
Formerly, and under ordinary circumstances. Miss Hermi- 
tage would have overlooked such neglect, for she was the eas- 
iest task-mistress in the world, always making allowance for 
her servants when in quest of amusement. The more amuse- 
ment they got, the better their work was done, she would say. 
But she was no longer her old self. The shock of that un- 
forgetable New-Year’s Day had left her nerveless and feeble ; 
it seemed a personal grievance to be thus left alone when 
every storm gust threatened to force in the windows or bring 
down the tiles. She was shivering from cold, too, for the fire 
had been allowed to burn low, and the oppressiveness of a 
quarter of an hour ago was changed to chilliness, whilst for 
a few minutes the flashes of lightning were awful in their viv- 
idness. Not twice in a lifetime do we behold a like specta- 
cle, the broad span of heavens and the troubled deep as if in 
one vast conflagration, hardly a perceptible interval between 
blaze and blaze, hardly a lull between peal and peal, heralds 
it might be of doom to many both on land and sea. 

Miss Hermitage rang the bell, but that summons was un- 
noticed ; then she went to the foot of the stairs and called 
Colette, but no Colette came. Something must have hap- 
pened, she now said to herself, some one of her household 
perhaps had received injury from the lightning. How un- 
kind not to come to her. 

In this momentary dejection she for the first time realized 
the awfulness there may be in solitude. She was troubled in 
mind, and she was alone. What if harm had happened to 
Colette ? She should then be alone indeed, and alone for 
the rest of her days as she was at this moment. How 
different it might have been ! Affection might have been 


“ disarmed: 


150 

hers, and all kinds of domestic joys. These things were 
out of her reach now, but she would fain make her peace 
with Stephana — Stephana, who understood how the debts 
of conscience are acquitted ; Stephana, who seemed to her 
imagination an embodiment of Justice blindfold with scale * 
in her hand. Could she but satisfy Stephana, she should 
be able to enjoy herself in Italy as in the old days. 

At last Colette did come, the faithful little woman appear- 
ing out of breath and out of countenance. 

“ Why do you leave me alone ! ” said Christina, querulously. 
“You know I am not well. A very little thing upsets me 
now. And the fire is very low. I am shivering with cold.” 

“ I have been looking for Stephana,” replied Colette, apol- 
ogetically. Then she put a shawl round her friend’s shoul- 
ders, and piled the fire with logs. 

“ What is Stephana doing ? Why does she not bear us 
company at such a time 1 ” asked Christina,. in the same fret- 
ful voice. 

“ Stephana can not come,” Colette said, mysteriously. 

“ Then let us go to her. Why should she shut herself up 
in the midst of a storm like this ? There is positive danger 
for every one of us.” 

Colette still looked enigmatic. “ The storm is abating,” 
she said. “ I have told the maids to come down-stairs and 
prepare tea. But Stephana can not come.” 

“ Has anything happened to her, or to anybody in the 
house ? ” asked Christina, sharply. 

“ What should happen ? ” was the reply, accompanied by 
a shrug of the shoulders. “ We must do without her com- 
pany for a time. That is all.” 

“ I am sure something strange has come to pass. Am I 
not to know ? ” 

“ Strange things are always coming to pass where Ste- 
phana is concerned,” Colette made reply, with an odd smile. 

“ Let us take our tea cozily and watch the storm-clouds di- 
vide. See the lightning. How it diminishes ! ” 

But Miss Hermitage would not be quieted. She would go 
to Stephana, she said. Something had happened of which 
Colette dared not tell. 

“Indeed and indeed no harm has come. to her,” Colette 
replied. Then finding that the other was determined to see 
for herself, she followed her upstairs. 


disarmed: 


51 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

There are certain temperaments without doubt so sensi- 
tive to atmospheric changes as to give credence to, if not to 
warrant, the strange theories formed on the subject, and Ste- 
phana’s was one of these. The superlative grandeur of the 
storm acted no less upon her imagination than the phenom- 
enal conditions accompanying it, affecting her physical pow- 
ers. For a brief spell she surrendered herself to a double 
influence, the one rendering her mental faculties abnormally 
alert, the other diminishing or subduing bodily force, sub- 
jecting it momentarily, not to will, but to something that may 
be even stronger. At such moments, when given up abso- 
lutely to phantasy, spiritual vision, call her mood by what 
name we please, Stephana would be as unconscious of the 
actual world as an infant in sweet sleep. The storm having 
taken possession of her spirit, the physical incumbrance re- 
mained inert, and the bodily faculties in abeyance, and al- 
though the sublimity and awfulness of nature in this rare 
mood were apparent to her vaguely as in a dream, to all else 
she was irresponsive, and indeed insensible. Called by name 
at such times, she did not hear ; wrapt in an ecstasy which 
others could not understand, she was deaf, blind, mute to the 
visible material world. And in that dream-world whither 
none could follow her, she must be waited for as some bird 
that has soared into cloud-land, but will duly return to its 
nest. It was this habit of abstraction that perhaps more than 
any other characteristic made Stephana an enigma to her 
friends. What could so absorb her mind as to render it dull 
to actualities ; and why should she thus voluntarily lead her- 
self to speculations having such a result? For, said all, she 
was mistress of herself, she might overcome this mental habit 
if she would. But Stephana had every reason for encourag- 
ing thoughts and fancies more beautiful by far than those 
steeped in realities. She was a silent poet, one of those 
choice spirits that are intoxicated with spiritual and intellect- 
ual beauty, and at the same time alive in every fibre to the 
warfare between good and evil disturbing the tranquillity of 
the world. The loveliness revealed to her inner vision en- 
tranced, dazzled ; but the sorrow that followed a contempla- 
tion of life as it is, dimmed her eyes with tears. Compensatory 
are ever the higher gifts. If Stephana suffered much more 
than her fellows because she realized more intensely the bit;- 


152 


disarmed:' 


terness of sin and wrong, at the same time hope and good- 
ness shone upon her with intenser, mellower light. She sor- 
rowed more, but who rejoiced with equal favor } And just 
as the inner vision consoles the poet and reveals to him a 
world of loveliness that is as a reflex of this, yet far more lovely, 
so Stephana, poet without a lyre, had consolations for her 
own special sorrows of which others knew not. When Chris- 
tina and Colette entered the room, she met them with her 
usual smile of welcome, and except an extraordinary bright- 
ness in her eyes and unusual pallor on her cheeks, there was 
nothing to denote the crisis through which she had just 
passed. 

“ I was coming to you,” she said, and again she smiled and 
looked at each doubtfully, uncertain as to the effect her dis- 
closures might have. Whilst you have been watching the 
storm and the sea, I have been gazing on light and darkness 
more awful still. But sit down and I will tell you everything.” 

The heat, precursor of the tempest, had caused her to ex- 
change her velvet pelisse for a white woolen morning-gown, 
in which, with her black hair loosened from its comb and 
falling about her shoulders, and her eyes full of quiet fire, 
she looked like a priestess fresh from communion with her 
gods ; no pythoness inflamed with wrath and impelled to utter 
direful malisons was here, rather one of those calm beautiful 
beings whose mission it was to speak words of benign and 
hopeful presagement. 

“ Sit down on each side of me,” she said, all expansiveness 
and douceur; “you shall hear what I have seen.” 

The pair obeyed, not loath. It was the first time that 
Stephana had opened her lips to either on the subject of her 
dreams and phantasies, and now she sat down and told her 
story as if it were an ordinary narrative. 

“ The storm came upon me quite by surprise, as it must have 
done on yourselves,” she said, leaning forward in her chair, 
and seeming to see the things she described. “ I had thrown 
off my heavy gown and opened my window, overcome by the 
sudden sultriness, when a wondrous flash of lightning — such 
a flash as I had never before witnessed — drove me back. I 
sank into my chair, trembling, not with fear, but with emo- 
tion. The sight of the dark sea and the lightning playing 
upon it was so majestic, so indescribably av/ful ! The present 
and all that was taking place now passed from my ken. I 
gazed, but not on tangible things ; I hearkened, but to no 
earthly voice.” 


DISARMEDr 


153 


She covered her eyes as if to shut out all that could inter- 
fere with the vividness of the mental picture she was draw- 
ing, and went on : 

“ It was as if the fair race of the earth had vanished from 
my sight, and instead I saw light and darkness only — light 
so dazzling, yet so lovely, so splendid, so beneficent, that I 
seemed now to gaze upon it for the first time, whilst the 
darkness filled my soul with terror. No words can describe 
it. A darkness swallowing, ingulfing, every luminous parti- 
cle that approached it ; a darkness striving to encroach upon 
the confines of light. As I gazed and gazed I discerned a 
broad shining track dividing what preshadowed to my mind 
not only day and night, but life and death, time and eternity. 
This luminous path, whose end and beginning I could not 
see, was garlanded on either side by troops of angelic figures. 
Most beautiful and terrible were they, all those sentineling 
the kingdom of light being of its very essence, starry, radi- 
ant, ineffable, with rays about their seraphic brows, and a 
whiteness more dazzling than silver or Alpine snow upon 
their wings, whilst the legion guarding the realms of darkness 
were as night incarnate, fearful to behold, blackness on their 
foreheads, ebon of wing, sable-raimented, fit harbingers they 
of a night that should never see any dawn, children of the 
Death that has no beginning and no end. I gazed and 
gazed, and by-and-by discerned the occupation of these an- 
gelic battalions. For, gazing down into the abyss in which 
the fair bro^d way was lost below, and high into the heavens 
where it vanished also, I now saw what I can only describe as 
flames or small wing-like apparitions fluttering upward. 
Once having made out their presence, as it happens to star- 
gazers, I soon saw twenty where before I had seen but one, 
and by-and-by the space between the two regions I could see 
was filled with them : fluttering feebly they came, some 
lighter and more conspicuous than others, none wholly dark, 
and each moving hither with free voluntary movements like 
those of a bird. I discovered also that each of these small 
wing-like flames was followed by a light and a dark angel, 
who seemed striving to entice it, and one to the right, the 
other to the left. As I gazed I discerned that when any 
one was drawn close to the boundaries of the light or the dark 
kingdom, straightway it was absorbed. Then the light 
burned brighter and brighter ; the gloom grew more and more 
intense. But that especial little flame was lost to sight, 
merged either in the supernal day or night. Strange and 


154 


disarmed: 


moving was it to this contest going on, and the transforma- 
tion brought about, these myriads upon myriads with their at- 
tendant m/nistering spirits, attracted now nearer the light, now 
toward the borders of darkness, at last absorbed by the one or 
ingulfed into the horrible abyss of the other. There was music 
too ; whence it came I knew not, but it reached my ears from 
afar, and alternated — now exultant and joyful, a bridal song, 
a triumphant march, a jubilant chorus ; now sad as a dirge or 
funeral knell, so sad that I wept to hear. I was weeping 
thus when suddenly I heard a voice anear, and without dar- 
ing to look up, knew that it was one of the seraphic spirits 
sent hither to comfort me. 

“ ‘ Weep not,’ he said, in a voice sweet but awful. ‘ Gaze 
and be instructed. To the mind of man much of the knowl- 
edge he desires is denied him, but thus much know and teach 
others. In yonder track of light see prefigured human life, 
which is but a warfare between shining goodness and dark 
sin, each unit of the multitudes born on earth fighting under 
one banner or the other. If it is ordained that the life after 
the tomb remain an enigma to earthly sojourners, and all ex- 
cept life itself mysterious, at least know that the soul van- 
quished by evil makes the sum of universal darkness vaster 
and more portentous, whilst the gain of the humblest spirit 
to truth and loveliness is as another ray of light, beaming 
not only on this world, but throughout the entire universe, 
and not only to-day, but always. Ask not, then, earthly, 
much less heavenly rewards, O children of men. . Is it no re- 
ward to have added to God’s best gift, man’s best heritage. 
Light, forever and forever ? ’ ” 

Little was said at the time, but Christina thanked her cous- 
in warmly, and Colette’s tearful eyes afforded grateful com- 
ment. The next morning the projected departure took place 
without unusually affectionate adieux. About an hour after- 
ward, however, Stephana found a note on her desk. It bore 
the well-known lozenge, with Christina’s initials and motto 
underneath. For one and the world.” There was no let- 
ter, but the envelope held merely a slip of paper folded round 
a check. The draft was for five thousand pounds, and on the 
slip were written these words, “ Save my soul by your pray- 
ers.” 


DISARMED: 


155 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A FEW days after these events Valerian suddenly appeared 
at Steppie’sdoor, just at the time Arthura was at home. Step- 
pie was the first to perceive him in the distance. She was 
one of those persons who can never so wholly absorb them- 
selves in any occupation as not to see and hear every trifling 
thing going on around them, and the distant glimpse of Va- 
lerian was caught while she busily cast up her housekeeping 
books. 

“ Oh ! she said, half crying, “ misfortune on misfortune ! 
I said that a series of calamities would happen when I over- 
turned the inkstand on Benjamine’s white frock this morning. 
Mr. Hermitage, Arthura, and the maid out for a holiday, 
and the drawing-room curtains taken down to be washed, and 
no fresh butter for tea, and Baby’s last clean pinafore stained 
with blackberry jam, and my best gown, at the dressmaker’s, 
and Benjamine’s hair in paper for to-morrow’s Sunday-school 
treat, and Walter playing at leap-frog in the streets with the 
baker’s boy ! Oh dear ! Arthura, you must battle with it. I 
am ready to sink into the earth.” 

“ Dear little mamma,” said Arthura, proudly collected in 
spke of strange beatings of the heart, “ I will let Mr. Her- 
mitage in, and meantijne you tidy the children, and bring 
them down-§tairs as soon as you can.” 

“ But for you to answer the door ! Let me do it,” said 
Steppie, beseechingly. 

“ Mr. Hermitage will not expect to see a powdered foot- 
man,” Arthura made sarcastic reply. 

Then came Valerian’s knock, and the next moment he 
stood on the threshold, catching sight of Steppie dragging a 
child by each hand on the staircase. 

The lovers had not met since the painful interview of a few 
days before, the very thought of which stung Arthura to the 
quick now. Valerian had wounded her past forgetfulness, if 
not past forgiveness, she said, and the prospect of a talk with 
him afforded scant pleasure. 

“ Can I say a word to you ? ” he said, glancing at the door. 

“ Certainly,” Arthura replied, and she could not resist a 
smile in the midst of her bitter thoughts. Who should hear 
anything they might say, indeed ? There were audible indica- 
tions enough of what was going on in the chamber overhead 
had not Valerian been too self-absorbed to hear them — Baby 


156 


disarmed: 


wailing at having her face washed out of season, Ben j amine 
clamoring for a clean tucker, Walter throwing off his shoes, 
a general running hither and thither, an unlocking of drawers, 
and a prevailing hubbub and commotion. 

Valerian glanced at Arthura’s calm face with no little ap- 
prehension. Ke had come to make excuses for himself and 
to beg pardon for the unwarrantable behavior of the other 
day; but seeing Arthura’s cold, collected demeanor, he 
hardly knew how to begin. “ I have come to say many things 
to you,” he said, not venturing even to repeat the hand-clasp. 
“ First and foremost, I was to blame in saying what I did. 
Pray think no more of it. Forgive me.” 

“ Certainly,” again Arthura said. 

To Valerian’s ears the word had an ill-omened sound. 
Arthura was not wont to be monosyllabic. Her speech most 
often resembled herself — bright, sparkling, individual. But 
that frigid affirmation ! — that “ Certainly ! ” 

“ When I explain all to you I am sure you will make some 
excuse for me,” he went on, feeling that he must go on 
whether he made matters better for himself or worse. “ I 
have had many things to harass and perplex me. Let me 
first of all tell you one. I have come to say good-by for a 
time. I start to-day and at midnight on a journey to Amer- 
ica.” 

Arthura looked inquisitive, but not.melted. Surprise, how- 
ever, did win from her a genuine exclamation. She forgot 
for the moment everything but the delightfulness of seeing a 
new world. 

“ Are you really going to see America ? ” she said. 

“ You speak as if you would like to see it too. And indeed 
that may well be, some day,” Valerian went on, relieved at 
the sudden naturalness of Arthura’s voice and manner. “ But 
I must make haste, my darling ; I have so much to say, and 
so little time to say it in, that I am at my wits’ end where to 
begin. Well, I am going to America on an errand for Ste- 
phana, and may be absent three or four months, not more. 
Her grand schemes you shall hear of in my letters. You will 
see me back early in the summer. I will write to you by every 
mail.” 

Arthura listened with no responsive eagerness, yet kindly, 
he thought. Yes, she loved him still. 

“ All sorts of things have happened impossible to write 
about. Did Mr. Constantine tell you ? I am Christina’s 


disarmed:' 


157 


son, born of a secret marriage. My name is a humble one, 
but, such as it is, honestly mine.” 

That piece of news suddenly gave Arthura real pleasure. 
Her cheeks showed gratulatory blushes. Her eyes sparkled. 

“ I had not heard a word of this. 1 am glad indeed,” she 
said. 

“ The revelation has not mended my fortunes as yet,” Va- 
lerian went on, grimly. “ What my mother’s intentions are 
I know not, but at present I am a mere pensioner on her 
bounty. I must make my own way.” 

Arthura broke in with flaming cheeks and hot tears. 

“ You are going to America on Stephana’s account. Tell 
me the truth. Valerian. Are you going to marry her ? Mr. 
Constantine says so.” 

Valerian looked ruffled and discomposed, but recovering 
himself in a moment, pleaded his cause with wonderful dex- 
terity. 

“ Listen to me, my dearest,” he said, speaking in a low, 
confidential voice, and persuading himself that things were 
with them as in the sweet French days. “ Long before I 
saw you I gave Stephana to understand that if she could ever 
marry again I should be proud to make her my wife. It was 
a bold proposition on my part, but she was ever so beautifully 
kind to me, and so gracious withal, that in any case I felt 
sure of giving no offense. There was no question of love, 
only cousinly affection, and (at least on one side) an esteem 
almost reaching to veneration. You know Stephana, who 
can resist her ? ” 

“ Who, indeed ? ” Arthura exclaimed, still agitated. “ If 
Stephana now wishes it, you will many' her.” 

Valerian laughed scornfully, at the same time not loath to 
let his supposititious infidelity take the shape of fatalism. 

“ No,” he said, speaking slowly, as if anxious for each 
word to dwell in her memory like a promise. “ I shall marry 
you, or no woman. But for a time I am in a charmed circle. 
I do Stephana’s bidding whether I will or no. You can not 
suppose that I wished to undertake this journey to America, 
and thus absent myself from you and keep my future plans in 
abeyance for three months. But I can not refuse Stephana, 
firstly because she casts a sort of glamour over me, and 
secondly because she is my good genius, the best friend (I 
am here speaking from a worldly point of view) I possess. 
If ever justice is rendered me by my mother it will be Ste- 
phana’s w'ork.” 


“ disarmed: 


158 

Arthura was silent. Valerian could not tell whether or no 
he had convinced her. She did not indeed know herself. 
But he certainly had made some kind of explanation. 

“ You see, my own love,” he went on, “ I am driven against 
my inclinations to accept Stephana’s behests. What have 
we two but Love and Hope, and who can live upon these 
alone ? Do not be cast down. I am sure that all will come 
right in time. Only you must think kindly of me and believe 
in me. Promise that.” 

He drew her toward him and kissed her on the eyes, a 
true-lover’s kiss, but it hardly cheered Arthura. She sat still, 
looking on the ground. 

“ It makes you happy to be with Mr. Constantine } ” he 
said, after a time. “ You will write to me cheerfully. And 
who knows how soon Fortune may smile on us after my 
return, how speedily we may be able to realize our wishes ! 
You do love me, you do forgive me, do you not.? I hardly 
knew what I was saying when I spoke so roughly to you, your 
coming was such a surprise and such a vexation, seeing how 
ready the world is to rail at those who disregard it. But all 
is with us as before, now is it not .? ” 

He looked into her eyes with a lover’s admiration, certainly 
without a lover’s confidence. How superb in her girlish 
bloom and strength was this once sparkling, audacious 
Arthura ! All the strength was still there, the self-reliance, 
the courage, the will, but something was wanting he fain 
would see. 

“ Say that it is so or that it shall be so,” he said, desper- 
ately. He had never been more in love with her in his life. 
“ I ^ need not say it to you, who love her, Stephana’s 
designs, spells, if you will, are all beneficent. But were it 
otherwise, were the toils spread about me wizardry indeed, 
I would break them for your sake. Over my love for you 
she has no power.” 

Just then there was a clamor of children’s voices at the 
door. Their interview was at an end. 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

‘‘Will not Mr. Hermitage have some tea? It is quite 
ready.” 

For it was Steppie who had entered, followed by the chil- 


disarmed: 


159 


dren, all beautifully dressed in honor of their guest, Steppie 
herself looking too youthful to be the mother of the tall girl 
clinging to her skirts. 

“ Come, children, you remember Mr. Hermitage, who 
pulled Benjamine out of the water at Margate > Say how 
d’ye do ? ” she said. 

Then the little party went into the next room, Steppie pre- 
siding over the tea-pot, Valerian cutting bread and butter for 
the children with charming urbanity, Arthura growing genial 
by Walter’s side. 

“ I must congratulate you on your improved appearance,” 
Valerian said, addressing himself to Steppie. You were so 
ailing at Margate. It does credit to the London climate.” 

Steppie’s complexion, fairest of the fair, showed to-day a 
tinge of rose ; she looked, as she was, indeed, in blooming 
health. 

“ Ah ! ” she replied, sighing, “ it is my misfortune to look 
well. No one pities me for my poor health and low 
spirits.” 

“My dear madam,” said Valerian, “you are really deceiv- 
ing yourself. There is no such thing as low spirits.’' 

“ I wish I could think so,” was Steppie’s desponding an- 
swer. “ Were it not for low spirits I could be the happiest 
creature in the world. I was born with a melancholy name 
— Sadgrove. But wjien I changed it matters did not mend 
at all.” 

“The fact is,” Valerian went on, “ you but mistake the effect 
for the cause — low spirits for the misfortune that produced 
them. Now I will tell you, with your permission, how you 
may get rid of this incubus.” 

“Do! do!” cried Walter, clapping his hands. “Oh, Mr. 
Hermitage, if you cured mamma of her low spirits we should 
all jump for joy.” 

“ My pathology is of the simplest,” went on Valerian. “ Of 
course we all know that nothing goes wrong without a cause. 
When a wheel creaks we oil the spring ; when we break a leg 
we get a surgeon to set it. And so it is with what we call 
low spirits. We either want a doctor to physic us, or we 
drink a kind of water that disagrees with us, or we sit in a 
room that does not get sun enough. The consequence is 
some bodily disorder, which straightway, because we don’t 
know its name, we call low spirits.” 

“ Let us get mamma a different kind of water to drink,” 
shouted Walter, 


i6o 


disarmed: 


“ You must try, not one remedy, but all,” Valerian went 
on, speaking with perfect gravity. “ Some people cure them- 
selves of low spirits by chopping wood ; their muscles are 
called into play, and the exhilaration extends to the mind. 
I knew one lady who was restored by going every day for a 
month to a children’s hospital, and amusing the little patients 
by making grimaces. She quite lost the habit of looking 
woe-begone, and found that it had been nothing but a habit.” 

“ But to rise every morning with the feeling that life is a 
burden ? ” asked poor Steppie. “ I should like to get up as 
gay as a lark.” 

“Will you let me advise you?” asked Valerian. “ Theri 
lose not a moment, join an amateur dramatic society. You 
would be obliged to play a variety of parts, and would soon 
begin to regard them as real. So, if you were melancholy 
one day, at least you would be gay the next.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” Arthura said. “Yes, little mamma, 
we will do it. It will amuse us all.” 

“ I am sure I hope so,” Steppie made pensive reply. 

Nevertheless, she brightened up whilst the subject was 
being discussed, and promised to learn a part, if Arthura 
would arrange everything. Valerian had given a happy turn 
to the conversation. And when he rose to go, after the 
friendliest meal, with such kindly admonitions to Steppie on 
the care of her health, such genial interest in the children, 
such affectionate appeal to Arthura — they had one moment 
on the threshold to themselves — how could she choose but 
believe him ? He loved her. He would be true to her. Ab- 
sence would draw them nearer to each other. 

That night before Arthura returned to her post Steppie 
caught her hands, and whispered, reproachfully: “Oh, Ar- 
thura, why did you never tell me ? Mr. Valerian is in love 
with you. You two will surely be married some day.” 

Arthura flung her arms round her step-mother’s neck with 
tears and blushes. “ Dear little mamma, he made me prom- 
ise never to tell. That is why. It made me very unhappy to 
deceive you, but I could not help it.” 

“I like Mr. Valerian; I am very glad,” was all Steppie 
could say, as she fondly caressed the clinging girl. 

“ You like him, yes, but will he be good to me? ” Arthura 
asked. “You are more experienced than I. Tell me, Step- 
pie, may a woman trust a man ? Are his words to be relied 
on like Scripture ? — the words he says when he is in love, I 
mean.” 


DISARMEDr 


i6i 

“Your papa was true and tender as a woman,” answered 
Steppie. “ But for the rest I can not answer. I have all my 
life long been terribly afraid of men. I should never have 
married at all but for your poor papa’s persuasions.” 

“ You were happy t ” asked Arthura. 

“ No, I was never what is called happy in my life ; but that 
was not your poor papa’s fault. Had I cried for the moon 
he would have fetched it down for me — 

“ Or tried to do so,” put in Arthura. 

“ Yes, that is what I mean. There are husbands who will 
do that, you know, and others who will not.” 

“ And do you think Valerian belongs to the former cat- 
egory, little mamma ? ” 

“ Ah ! you put me a hard question. But you would never 
cry for the moon, I am sure.” 

“ Would Valerian be kind ? ” 

“ What matter so long as you are not foolish ? ” was 
Steppie’s reply ; and so they parted. 

“ Hoity, toity, turn ! ” was Mr. Constantine’s exclamation 
as Arthura entered his room precisely at twelve of the clock. 
“ Well, my Prospera, there is one who wields a mightier wand 
than any of us. Stephana has got five thousand pounds out 
of Christina, as I live ! ’Tis past belief ! ’Tis miraculous ! 
Tis witchcraft ! But ’tis true. I have myself seen the check.” 

And tidings heaped upon tidings. 

“Valerian lunched with me to-day, and is off to-night to 
Liverpool, there to set sail for America.” 

thura waited expectantly. Doubtless she was to hear 
thar part of Valerian’s story he lacked time to tell. 

“ If it were not for my fourscore and odd years, I would 
willingly go too. For,” added the old man, leaning forward, 
and speaking with unusual fire and animation, “the world 
may call Stephana mad, and her schemes froth and emptiness ; 
but mark me, my Prospera, ’tis she who alone is sane, and 
the rest of us brainless idiots. Let their detractors rave as 
they will at her Utopias beyond seas, I, for one, as I sink 
into the grave, will raise my voice on her behalf. Have 
you heard nothing ? ” 

“ Nothing of Stephana’s schemes, sir.” 

“ Five thousand pounds ! Hum ! I wonder how the little 
woman felt when the tooth was drawn out ! Matchless in- 
comparable Stephana ! Five thousand pounds from Christina, 
as I live ! Well, my dear, they’ll call Stephana mad, but 
never mind — we will drink to the health of her earthly par- 


disarmed: 


162 

adise. Valerian’s errand, then, is to choose some fair tract 
in America which Stephana means to colonize (she gives ten 
thousand pounds herself, but that is a drop in the ocean to 
Christina’s five), and the colonists she sends thither will find 
themselves in a strange world, as the gay Greek and his com- 
panions who wei whisked up to the moon. Poor little Lon- 
don children ! — o call a garden their own, to find apples 
ripening in the ‘ an for them ! Seven Dials, then, or at least 
a section of it, is to be transported beyond sea ; houses and 
lands — we may indeed say souls and bodies — given to those 
who have hitherto been but misery incarnate. But more to- 
morrow. It wearies me to talk.” 

Arthura read a page or two, but Mr. Constantine was too 
full of Stephana and her schemes to listen just yet. 

“ Remember my words when I am out of your sight, as I 
must soon Be. Stephana may fail, may do foolish things with 
wisest intent ; but she has caught the spirit of the age to come. 
She realizes the moral standard of the future. For first have 
we seen Force putting the chaos of human society into order ; 
next. Charity working blindly enough, yet alleviating the sum 
total of misery. Now has come the turn of sovereign Jus- 
tice, of Conscience instead of Self, to speak to each man’s 
soul, and make him feel the full measure of his own responsi- 
bility as an inheritor of the past, an enricher or despoiler of 
the future. Ah me! Would I were younger ! Yes, this is 
the real sadness of dying, the bitterness of the grave. Just 
as the world is slipping from under our feet we see the dawn 
of the better day we have struggled for and believed in. But 
your wand, my good Prospera; waft me far from realities 
into shadowland. Away ! away ! ” 

Soon he was drowsing indeed, and Arthura stole away, not 
herself to sleep till the cold wintry morning dawned grayly 
and the foggy streets were astir. What is outward gloom to 
a young hopeful heart ? 

The first sight that caught her eyes was a letter lying on 
the table, a last farewell from Valerian penciled as he drove 
to the railway station. “ Yes,” the girl said to herself, “ I 
must, I will forgive him, since he loves me still.” She sat 
down and wrote a note, to await him on his arrival, that 
should at least atone for the coldness and unbendingness of 
yesterday. “ What am I,” she thought, “ that I should set 
myself against forgiveness ? ” 


disarmed: 


163 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Summer had come, and of the four million hearts beating 
in London none exulted like Stephana’s. Her fondest wishes 
were about to be realized. Valerian, having, successfully ac- 
complished his mission, was on his way home. Christina 
w'ould also reach England in a day or two, and was willing 
to be reconciled to her son. Her blind friend Markham had 
fulfilled the behest laid upon him, and found a thousand fam- 
ilies willing to go unto 

“ an isle as yet unknown, 

And yet far kinder than their own.” 

A week more, and the ship chartered to transport her colo- 
nists to the New World would set sail. 

Such a departure was not to be passed over as an event 
without a meaning, and that somber old Kensington mansion, 
with its lawns and shrubberies, before dedicated by Stephana 
to more solemn uses, was now to be given up to an exuber- 
ance of felicity. A place of reconciliations, a place of ben- 
ison, consecrated to hope, trust, and thanksgiving; surely 
here, if anywhere, should joy bells peal on the summer air, 
banners wave in the blue sky, garlands within vie with the 
bowers without, and loud triumphant music dwindle the noises 
of every day. 

Stephana loved the display that symbolizes a generous 
truth, and she was now spending upon a single entertainment 
as much money as Christina in her palmy days had spent upon 
a season. What indeed with the guests about to take up 
their ^bode in the house and those invited for the festival, 
the sumptuary business alone was onerous, )ut a bagatelle 
compared to the less substantial part of the elebration. It 
must be brilliant, it must be emblematic, it lust be pictur- 
esque, and as no Valerian was by to anticipate her wishes, 
she had to do the imaginative part herself, and finding such 
subordinates as she could. Song, dance, a fairy masque or 
allegory, these formed but a part of the programme which 
was to be carried out on really a splendid scale, and the whole 
ending with a banquet under tents. 

Busiest of the busy, Stephana yet found time for audiences, 
one visitor after another being admitted to the presence- 
chamber. The first to come was Markham. Alas for the 
eye that could not behold his sovereign lady then ! The 


164 


DISARMED. 


mistress of the house, unable to lose a moment of the too pre- 
cious time slipping away before the eventful day, was occu- 
pied in making angels’ wings — emblematic employment for 
one who only wanted wings herself to be mistaken for a se- 
raphic being. The whole picture was lost to her blind adorer, 
but let us console ourselves with the thought that maybe he 
conjured up a vision even lovelier. Stephana no longer wore 
white for mourning, but over her morning dress, pure as snow, 
had thrown a shawl of the warm red color worn by blissful 
angels in old pictures. The richness of this glowing scarf, 
contrasting as it did so strongly with the clear paleness of her 
complexion, lent almost an unearthliness to the calm pure 
features and the dark eyes now full of repose. She had care- 
lessly placed on the back of her chair the last piece of handi- 
work, veritable wings, pearly, iridescent, ethereal, although 
fashioned by human hands, and of celestial down. Winged 
then she was indeed, a fair apparition alighted, as it seemed, 
for a moment only, ready the next to wing upward flight. 

But Markham, whatever pictures he may have had before 
his inner eye, saw not this one. Only the sweetness of Ste- 
phana’s voice reached him where he sat. . 

“ What ought not I to do for you ” she began, gayly, “ you 
who have moved mountains for me. But I am ungrateful of 
the ungrateful. Expect scant thanks.” 

He sighed. “ Thank me as little as you please, only do 
not banish me from your presence.” 

“ What can you do for me ? ” asked Stephana, in the same 
bright manner. Then recalled to the painful thought the 
speech might call up in her listener’s mind, she added : “ One 
thing already occurs to me out of a thousand. You can hear 
my maskers repeat their parts. A rehearsal is to take place 
this very afternoon, and no one is here to give judgment on 
it. And then — and then — But let us talk for a little first. 
Report on your mission.” 

“ Do not hurry me, dearest lady,” he said, with a little sigh 
of satisfaction. “ The work of months can not be told in as 
many minutes.” 

“ Hold this ribbon for me, then,” laughingly interposed 
Stephana. “ Let it slip gently from your fingers as I draw 
it. That is right. Now begin.” 

Well pleased, he began : 

“ You will not be surprised to learn that I found some 
difficulty in convincing these good people of your favorite 
dictum— the Golden Age lies before us, and not behind. 


J 


DISARMEDr 165 

Indeed, they would have nothing to say to a Golden Age at 
all. Some thought me mad. Others a charlatan ora knave. 
None at first regarded me as their well-wisher. I had been 
their friend once, when I sat down in courts and alleys and 
told stories. But now that I wanted something of them hwas 
a wholly different matter — so hard is it for any ill-used hu- 
man being to credit another with a perfectly disinterested 
motive.” 

“ My poor friend ! ” ejaculated Stephana. “ You were not 
reviled, hooted, pelted with mud ? ” 

The blind man smiled pathetically. “ My misfortune pro- 
tected me. Had I been as others are I might not now live 
to tell the tale. At first, then, the apostle of your Golden 
Age was only scoffed at for his pains. My best friends of 
the crowded London courts listened in contemptuous silence. 
The wags made fun of me. The cynical jeered. All re- 
belled against the good fortune you would fain force upon 
them. But as soon as one fact became clear, and the guid- 
ing principle of your scheme was made plain as day, then 
the tide turned.” 

He touched with one hand a roll of parchment that he had 
deposited by his side on entering. 

“ It was a happy thought of yours to exact some title of 
honor, some proof, if not of gentle birth, at least of nature’s 
nobility, from these poor folks. To be sent into a new coun- 
try and made a man of because you have only one shirt to 
your back is a kindness that humiliates. To be promised 
food and shelter for your children because you have not been 
able to provide them yourself galls even whilst it brings a 
sense of relief. But to be made to feel that, naked as you 
are, and starving and desolate, you have yet earned these 
things ! Ah, the blood tingles proudly then ! The eyes no 
longer seek the ground; the man feels himself a man in- 
deed.” 

He unrolled the parchment on his knee, and, as if he knew 
its contents by heart, with one hand holding Stephana’s rib- 
bon, the other fingering the scroll, went on : 

“ I have had the list made out alphabetically for the sake 
of convenience, but let your eyes light where they will you 
are sure to find a bit of writing emblazoned in colors and 
gold. This is one. I know it comes almost first in the list : 
“John Ames, waterman, married, nine children, jumped 
into the river on the occasion of a collision, at imminent 
peril of life and limb, and rescued a fellow-waterman from 


“ disarmed: 


1 66 

destruction.’ Another should be here : ‘ Alice Ashe, seam- 

stress, unmarried, unfortunate, supported by her toil a par- 
alyzed child, not kith and kin, a neighbor’s dying bequest, 
for eight years.’ A third is not far off : ‘Thomas Beamish, 
no occupation in particular, but brought up a'porter, married, 
seven children, nursed one neighbor after another when an 
epidemic raged in the court, and although up night after 
night, refused a halfpenny.’ Yet one more : ‘ Ralph Cal- 
derund, tailor, fathered the starved, ill-used child of bad 
neighbors, although he had four of his own.’ And yet a 
last : ‘ Peter Clarke, a shoe-black, fought another lad for ill- 
using a stray dog, and took charge of it, although half starv- 
ing himself.’ ” 

Stephana smiled, though tears were in her eyes. 

“ You have got together a band of heroes,” she said. 

“ Alas ! no. But what other heroism can one expect ? 
These poor people, then, when they discovered that none 
would be sent to the New World at your expense, there to 
found a family, without some kind of claim to such excep- 
tional good fortune, became converts to the notion at once. 
It was no longer an affair of government emigration and 
pauperism. The good deed, the chivalrous act, the sober 
career, and the — note well ! — the intellectual supremacy 
were to be rewarded. A certain Job Fearon you will find 
somewhere chosen for having invented a new button — 
a button to be the savior of human temper henceforth and 
forever ; once on, this immortal button can never come off, 
be it from shirt, sark, or simarre. Well, the chosen were now 
envied, the rest moved to emulation. I could have found you 
twenty thousand candidates instead of one.” 

“ Has every name its blazonry t ” asked Stephana; “each 
man, woman, and child such title of honor } ” 

“Yes ; there must be prizes for every one in our school. 
To create no jealousies, I have had the qualifications of every 
head of a family printed in gold and colors, although I was 
obliged to make certain negations stand for virtues ; for in- 
stance, the fact of never having been in prison, never having 
begged in the public streets, and many others. But some 
day you must go over the list.” 

“ And are they happy ? ” asked Stephana. “ Does the 
prospect of well-being warm their hearts ? ” 

“ Ah ! easier is it to make the wilderness to blossom as the 
rose than to make hope grow suddenly in the place of despair i 


^^n/sA/^MEDr 167 

But have no fear. All will go well if we do not run into 
extremes, and materialize instead of elevate.” 

Stephana was silent for a minute or two. Then she asked, 
still speaking in the same elate tone — her voice seemed almost 
strange to him in its joyousness : “ Your heart is in this 
work, is it not ? You will soon visit your little colony ? ” 

He grew on a sudden gloomy almost to moroseness. “ After 
so many months absence, may I not at least enjoy your 
company for a little while ? Have others so absorbed you 
that you have no room in your heart even for a faithful 
friend ? ” 

The implied reference to Valerian was not to be misunder- 
stood, but Stephana felt just now too happy to be even so 
disturbed. 

“ Let us think of nothing, talk of nothing, but this most 
joyful event,” she said, in her sweetest manner. “ You will 
come every day till it is over. You will help me as you are 
doing now.” 

“ I own the unwinding of ribbon is an occupation I delight 
in,” answered Markham, not without a touch of good-natured 
irony. “ But there are other things I have learned without 
eyes.” 

“Your accomplishments shall all be called into requisition 
by turns. But there is the luncheon bell. We will lunch 
without loss of time, and then, if you will preside in my place 
at the rehearsal, you will render a service indeed.” 

She freed herself from her silver and rainbow-colored wings, 
and taking his hand, led him into the dining-room, fragrant 
with freshly cut roses. 

The repast was gay and charming. Markham’s composure 
was fortunately not disturbed by the sight of a third cover. 
It had been laid for Valerian, whose arrival might now be 
momentarily expected. 

Like Markham, he had accomplished . his mission, but, 
unlike Markham, he was looking for reward. 


CHAPTER XL. 

The expected arrivals, however, did not take place that 
day, nor yet the next. When the morning of Stephana’s fete 
dawned neither Christina nor Valerian had appeared. No 
wonder that a smile of dismay rose to Stephana’s lips as she 


i68 


disarmed: 


reviewed all she must do in one short day : receive a long- 
absent lover, bring about a difficult reconciliation between 
the mother and son, entertain a thousand and odd guests, 
preside at a long and ceremonious banquet, deliver a farewell 
discourse, and now many more duties lay to hand ! But she 
was too happy to do more than smile at such a prospect. 
She had, indeed, never in her whole life felt so buoyed up 
with hope and joy. Looking back on the occurrences of the 
last few months, it seemed to her as if Heaven had been 
almost too kind, and some cloud must soon obscure this daz- 
zling sky, or else the poets had not fabled who sang so mov- 
ingly of man’s allotted bliss on earth. What had she willed 
or even desired but was about to come to pass ? One of the 
many darling schemes of years was already in part realized ; 
for, happen what might, now at least she had rescued a thou- 
sand souls from a life, il not of despair. Without looking for- 
ward. The fair world was about to smile upon a thousand 
more of her brothers and sisters, and one other spot in it 
transformed into a sphere of free manly struggle and endeavor. 
This achieved, how many other tasks she had to do ! 

Nor did it please Stephana less to contemplate the deed as 
part of Christina’s doing, and the effect to-day’s events might 
have upon her cousin’s mind. Christina was to be brought 
face to face for the first time with the philanthropy that wears 
the shape of a conviction and a brotherhood. She had given 
alms all her lifetime ; to-day she was to learn the meaning of 
poverty, and also of brotherly love. Would her mind be im- 
pressed ? Stephana hardly knew. 

There was, of course, another person uppermost in Ste- 
phana’s mind that morning as she so beautifully arrayed her- 
self for the matchless celebration. Valerian — how was it 
with him ? Here she could but indulge in the brighest hopes 
also, for Valerian’s service had of late not been of the lips 
only. He had shown her by the devotion of the past few 
months that he was willing to share her aspirations as well as 
her fortunes, and that to the best of his ability, if not as yet 
from the heart, he would further every one of her schemes 
for the amelioration of their fellows. 

But devotion of another kind ? — how was Stephana’s mind 
affected at the notion that Valerian was come home, a happy 
lover, to claim the guerdon of his mistress’s hand ? She could 
here accord Valerian praise only. His letters, whilst breath- 
ing the most loyal devotion, were all that she could desire — 
reserved, dignified, respectful. The fact is, he had obeyed 


‘‘ D/s ARMED r 169 

her injunctions to the letter, writing rather as a kinsman and 
a friend than a suitor. 

Judging Valerian by his deeds and his written words only, 
therefore, Stephana felt more confident in him than she had 
ever been, and so kindlier toward him too. Yes, he would 
make an admirable steward of her fortunes, and a tower of 
strength, by virtue of his worldly wisdom and shrewdness, to 
a dreamer like herself. She should not regret the promise 
she had made him, although it must sever her from another 
friend dearer still. Every heart, indeed, was to be made 
happy but Markham’s. This last thought was soon put away, 
for, after all, reasoned Stephana, my friendship shall do al- 
most as much for him as love could do, had I love to give. 
With such thoughts as these, Stephana dressed herself al- 
most like a bride, but for spiritual, not earthly bridals. This 
pure white robe, these white flowers on her bosom and in her 
hair, were worn for no love that claimed her as its own, no 
union of heart and heart, rather for the infinite love she bore 
all the world, and the marriage of hope and joy in a thousand 
hearts about to be celebrated that day. Most beautiful she 
looked when at last she came out of her chamber, “ a spirit, 
and yet a woman too.” To-day, in spite of that joyousness 
beaming in her eyes and playing about her lips, the spirit pre- 
dominated over the woman. Hardly Stephana’s self seemed 
there, rather some starry apparition that wore her likeness, 
destined to vanish with the rare occasion calling it into being. 

If Stephana’s brain was busy while she thus lingered in her 
tiring-chamber, what shall we say of the thousand and odd 
invited guests occupied at the same time in a similar manner 1 
Christina, Valerian, Arthura, had their own thoughts, not to 
speak of the rest of Stephana’s expected visitors. The day 
was to be an epoch in the lives of every one. 

“ Oh, Arthura,” cried Steppie, as she went up stairs to dress 
first the children and then herself, “ I feel so happy — I mean 
so miserable ! I should be overjoyed to play the part of Hope 
in Stephana’s allegory. But my heart is heavy as lead.” 

“You had better leave it at home, then, little mamma,” 
Arthura said, her own heat now beating with wild hopes, 
now sinking within her. “ We must be happy to-day, whether 
we will or no. It is our duty.” 

“ I am sure I always try to do my duty,” sighed poor Step- 
pie. “ And I certainly have felt less depressed since begin- 
ning to learn the part of Hope in the masque. I have even 
felt sometimes as if my low spirits were going altogether, and 


disarmed: 


170 

I was turning into a kind of Hope. Only to-day the old feel- 
ing comes back. 1 could sit down and cry. What if I should 
break down } ” 

“ People never do break down,” Arthura said, authoritative- 
ly. “ You could not break down if you tried. The words will 
come of their own accord, as they do to actors on the stage.” 

“ Well, actors do not break down, certainly,” Steppie said, 
drying her eyes, for a tear or two had come. “ And I sup- 
pose some are as nervous as myself.” 

“ Everybody is nervous, of course,” again urged Arthura — 
“ the Queen when she reads her speech, the speakers in the 
House of Commons, the judge — but they say what they have 
to say, so really nervousness is of no consequence.” 

“ Then you do not think that my tongue will cleave to the 
roof of my mouth ? ” asked poor Steppie. 

“ I have' provided against such an emergency,” Arthura 
answered, gayly, and forthwith produced a little silver pouncet- 
box full of pastilles. “We will all take one just before our 
speeches begin Then our tongues can not cleave, you know.” 

Steppie looked somewhat consoled. 

“ But there is another dreadful thing that might happen,” 
she said. “ What if my wings fall olf just at a critical moment, 
or my wreath gets awry ? People would laugh, and I should 
feel ready to sink into the earth.” 

“ We will make wings and wreaths secure enough, 
never fear,” was Arthura’s reply, “ although, when anything 
of the kind does occur, it is invariably looked upon as part 
of the performance. Nobody at play ever laughs out of sea- 
son.” 

“That is certainly balm in Gilead,” Steppie made answer. 

And then the wonderful business of dressing began — a 
business the children would never forget as long as they lived. 
To discard the gear of actual real life, and put on the sem- 
blance of cherubs ! To wear golden coronals, and garments 
soft as samite silvery white, to have azure-tipped wings, and 
badges embroidered with stars — above all, to carry little lutes, 
on which they had been taught to thrum a joyous note or two — 
how superlative, how unforgetable, was all this! Arthura 
went into the minutest particulars of each dress, giving Baby’s 
hair a more cherubic curl, Walter’s sky-blue mantle freer 
folds, Benjamine’s coronal of roses a more careless look. As 
to Steppie, when all was finished she declared that she did 
not know herself. 

Arthura’s own appearance mattered little, she said, since 


disarmed: 


171 


she was going to help Stephana generally, without taking any 
part in the pageant. In spite of remonstrance she put on no 
white gown, but something that suited her far better, that, 
indeed, transformed the mere handsome girl into a majestic 
woman. It was a black gown, yet a summer gown, being 
light as gossamer, whilst by way of adornment she wore mag- 
nificent roses of deepest, richest red. Of the same color was 
the fan in her hand and the silk cloak thrown over her 
shoulders. 

“ Dear Arthura,” said Steppie, embracing her when for a 
moment they found themselves alone, “you will to-day see 
Mr. Hermitage. Are you not very happy ? ” 

“ I should be, I suppose,” Arthura replied. “ But remem- 
ber we are only friends in the eyes of the world.” 

“ All will surely come right now ? ” asked Steppie, anxiously. 
“ Mr. Hermitage is free. He will marry you soon.” 

Arthura, by way of reply, merely kissed her step-mother, 
and gathering fan, gloves, and bouquet, prepared to go. 

“ We must think of other things to-day,” she said. “ And 
now I had better make haste and see how Mr. Constantine 
looks as Time. The carriage will be sent back for you and 
the children, and I shall be at the entrance on the lookout.” 

“ If you could only convoy us ! My heart fails me at the 
last.” 

“ Dear little mamma, scold that foolish little heart. I prom- 
ised to Mr. Constantine to be at hand in case a finishing touch 
is necessary.” 

“ Could we not wait for you in the carriage at the door .? ” 

“That would never do. The household is invited, and 
none are 'to see the masqueraders till their appearance in 
public.” 

Then, waving her hand gayly to the little group on the stair- 
head, she entered Stephana’s carriage and drove off to Mr. 
Constantine’s. She sorely needed the half-hour’s solitude, for 
her brain was in a whirl. Valerian had come back again. 
Unless words stand for nothing, he loved her fondly as ever. 
Why, then, these misgivings, these vague forebodings ? There 
had been no cessation of his letters, each and all breathing 
the same lover-like devotion. Again and again he had begged 
her to trust him and have patience with him. Obstacles stood 
in the way of his dearest wishes, he wrote. He was bound 
to consider Christina and Stephana; he was far yet from be- 
ing in an independent position. A few weeks after his return, 
and the future would be made clear. 


72 


disarmed: 


What troubled Arthura was the thought that wnilst she loved 
Valerian still, she could no longer put absolute trust in him. 
She could but feel that he was concealing something from 
her now, and that it was rather Valerian’s would-be than real 
self depicted in his letters. But love and hope are strong at 
twenty-four, and the thought of seeing Valerian again was at 
least mixed with pleasure as well as pain. It was a radiant 
face and a gay voice that greeted Mr. Constantine, elabor- 
ately dressed as Time. The old man was in his spright- 
liest mood. 

“ The drooping beard and staff, wings and patriarchal gar- 
ments, are doubtless more becoming,” he said, “ but the skele- 
ton and inverted scythe were more in my way. So you are 
to be only yourself. A discreet, a feminine choice ! Now sit 
in judgment upon me. Am I veritably Time indeed, the 
hoary sage, the awful monitor ? Do I look too old ever to 
have had a beginning, and not human enough ever to come 
to an end? No trace of flesh and blood, no sign of mor- 
tality ? ” 

“You are admirable indeed, sir.” 

“ Ah, my speech shall be more admirable still, for I would 
learn no part, I wanted to be wise for the last time on my 
own account. ’Twill be a brief utterance, but a pithy, I 
warrant you. Well, are we ready ? I am as impatient as a 
child before the curtain is* drawn up at a play.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

It was a world of roses, a world of sunshine, that awaited 
Stephana’s guests that midsummer day, and much more. 
No sooner had they set foot within her precincts than a be- 
wildering sense of novelty and splendor took possession of 
them. They were surely bidden to some royal pageant ! 
This show could not be all for humble - folks like themselves ! 

The avenue leading up to the somber old mansion glowed 
with crimson and gold banners, but it was the house itself 
that had been most transformed. Stephana had lived the life 
of Italy. She knew how to dress up a place in gala fashion, 
and instead of glittering effects and glaring contrasts had at- 
tained a subdued richness of color and wealth of ornamen- 
tation really poetic. Gorgeous Oriental carpets, and embroi- 
deries garlanded with fresh flowers hung from every window, 


disarmed: 


173 


whilst the building itself seemed to rise from the midst of a 
vast flower bed, so profusely were stands of roses, lilies, and 
gladiolas placed round about. 

If the house was all solidity and sumptuousness, the pavil- 
ion on the lawn was all lightness and airiness, a fairy palace 
raised for an hour, to-morrow to vanish without leaving a 
trace behind. This was also Stephana’s handiwork, and 
she had chosen the pale glassy green hangings and silvery 
white decorations with a purpose. Nothing else could be 
in such keeping with the fresh foliage of summer. Her un- 
substantial banqueting-hall looked, indeed, to belong to the 
world of blossoms and dew-drops and greenery around it ; 
some flowery tenement sprung up in night for merry-making 
of fays and elves, and no more real than they. Most surpris- 
ing and enchanting was this dome of pale sea-green, sheeny 
with sunshine, as it met the eyes of Stephana’s guests — one 
joyous surprise out of the thousand in store for them. 

Among the first to arrive was Christina, who knew that Ste- 
phana would expect one concession from her. She must see 
Valerian before the business of the day began, and get through 
that so dreaded meeting which was to mean reconciliation. 
To her great relief she found Arthura already come, and put- 
ting her hand within the girl’s arm, determined not to let her 
go till the meeting with Valerian should be over. Not even 
Stephana should compel her to see him alone. 

“ My dear Arthura,” she exclaimed, looking at her from 
head to foot admiringly, “ I am very glad to see you. Now 
do tell me why did you get out of spirits when you were with 
me by the sea ? I would have taken you to Italy ; I would 
much rather have kept you. But moody people drive me 
mad.” 

“ I am very sorry I was moody ; but I wanted to see my 
own people oftener. That was one reason,” Arthura said, 
with perfect candor. 

“ Well, you may live with me again some day — who knows } ” 
Miss Hermitage replied, growing more and more nervous. 
She saw Valerian approaching. “ Don’t leave me, my dear,” 
she added. “There is Valerian; he will like to see you 
again.” 

Arthura, knowing as much as she did of her companion’s 
history, understood the reason of that uneasy voice and sud- 
den grip of her arm ; but she also wanted a defense against 
Valerian just then. Miss Hermitage little knew how fain 
she was to break from her hold and hide herself. Valerian 


174 


disarmed: 


coming toward them, and every step that brought him 
nearer lessened her self-confidence and collectedness. To 
use Steppie’s expression, it seemed indeed as if her tongue 
would cleave to the roof of her mouth. But no escape was 
possible. She must see him, yet how little could any by- 
stander have divined what was going on in the minds of that 
superb girl and the spare, pale, bright-eyed old wgman lean- 
ing on her arm ! Arthura’s rich carnation came and went, but 
blushes may mean coquetry and pleasure only. Outwardly 
calm and unmoved she awaited her lover, just as Christina, 
whilst inwardly burning with feverish dread, showed no per- 
ceptible emotion at her son’s approach. Alike to the maiden 
and the mother this young man coming up to them with such 
airy port meant destiny, bale or blessing as long as life should 
last. To outsiders, it was a mere meeting of old friends. 
Bare-headed, and bowing with a charming smile, Valerian 
now stood before them. Christina, of course, had his first 
greeting. She moved a step forward, and for an instant 
disengaging her hand from Arthura’s arm, held it forward, 
trying to smile, though ghastly pale. Words failed her 
utterly. 

But Valerian’s careless ease helped her. Without the 
slighte St agitation, holding his hat in one hand, with the other 
he took her own, then very gracefully and gently he stooped 
and kissed her on either cheek. A perfect actor in a play 
could not have done it better. “ I am very glad to see you 
back again, and well too — well as ever,” was all he 
said. 

Then came Arthura’s turn. Here once more Valerian’s 
presence of mind was proof against all assail. The lover-like 
look of intense admiration was followed by a commonplace 
smile, an ordinary greeting, and a hand-clasp. Was she well } 
he asked ; would Mr. Constantine soon appear ? and so 
on. Meantime he had given Christina his arm, and by that 
little action indicated clearly enough the line of conduct he 
had laid down f r them both. 

There was to 3e no painful explanation, no bitterness, no 
useless f arrowing up of feelings. But their old relations 
were to l)e renewed. It was his part to take care of her and 
make things pleasant to her as of old, hers to be suave and 
confidential. The pair, whilst thus exchanging kind little 
nothings, could not in the least tell what was going on in the 
other’s mind. For none can measure his fellow, and here 
mother and son, though their characters were much alike, 


disarmed: 


175 


failed to guess even at the result brought about by this long 
and painful separation. 

With Christina atonement for wrong-doing could only take 
one shape. There was a penalty to be paid, material, actual, 
of the earth earthy. Valerian had been wronged by her; he 
should now receive compensation. This was what she had 
to say to him, no more. The colossal fortune he had so skill- 
fully helped her to enjoy should be his. The mother’s duty 
should be acquitted by her so far. More she could not do, 
but this was surely all Valerian wanted of her; he was not 
sentimental any more than herself, and so long as they were 
pleasant and friendly toward each other, life might be smooth 
enough to both. 

It seemed an easy thing to say, and here was the very op- 
portunity. Arthura had turned to embrace Colette ; no one 
was within hearing. Yet these little words, “Of course I 
will provide for you,” how hard they were to get out ! — im- 
possible, she said to herself at last. Whilst this momentary 
conflict was going on in her own mind. Valerian was occu- 
pied in a similar way. He also wanted to get out a few words, 
the only expression of remorse that occurred to him, but 
utterance did not come. To Valerian as to Christina one 
kind of compensation for wrong-doing presented itself only. 
The bitter pain he had given her and the remorseless way 
in which he had carried out his purpose did not trouble him ; 
it was the consequences that he felt in duty bound to atone 
for, the careless life of distraction so suddenly put a stop to, 
the pleasant relations with himself disturbed, the worldly 
discomfort he had brought upon her. “You look well,” he 
began at last, and smilingly glanced at her bonnet of latest 
Paris fashion and dress of straw-colored satin fit for a queen. 
“ Better than ever. This Italian journey has quite set you 
up, I hope.” Miss Hermitage gave an uneasy little laugh. 
“ I am well enough,” she said. Then — it seemed to her a 
last chance — she got out the words that would have had a 
cruel sound in the ears of any but Valerian. 

“ I don’t think I shall die yet ; but when I do, what is mine 
will be yours, of course. I wanted to tell you so.” 

Valerian did not look moved, although in reality he was 
more nervous than herself. 

“ I want you to live and be happy. Never mind me,” he 
stammered forth. “ I am very sorry I disturbed your peace.” 

“ Let us go to Stephana,” Christina exclaimed, adding, in 
an undertone, piteously : “ Say no more. We will never talk 


.76 


disarmed: 


of these things ; we will forget that they have happened. 
But here comes Stephana, and looking quite a picture,” she 
cried, with a sense of relief. It was once more Valerian’s 
turn to collect himself, and use extreme presence of mind. 
There was Stephana, his affianced bride ; there was Arthura, 
his love, his secretly betrothed, and not a word must be 
breathed by way of explanation or excuses to either as yet. 
The threads must be unraveled to-morrow. The palinode 
belonged to another day. Stephana was his benefactress, 
and he had betrayed her only that he might the better serve 
her interests ; Arthura was his love, and would forgive the 
temporary lapse when she learned all. . 

So, when Stephana had embraced Christina affectionately, 
he moved forward, paying as it must seem to outsiders hardly 
more homage than was due from such a guest to such a 
hostess. The beautiful hand held out so cordially was just 
raised to his lips, that was all. “ Welcome, most welcome 
home ! ” cried Stephana, smiling sweetly. “ What welcome 
can be good enough ” — she turned gayly toward Christina — 
“ since you have brought Italian sunshine, and you ” — here 
she looked affectionately at Valerian — “you have brought 
tidings of a promised land ? ” 

“If such a reception did not satisfy us, we must both be 
hard to please indeed,” answered Valerian, already feeling as 
if the most difficult part of the interview were got through, 
and beginning to breathe more freely. What if Stephana in 
her excess of gratitude had bent down her fair brow to be 
kissed ! And Arthura standing by ! Oh that this day with 
its pitfalls and toils ready to enmesh him on every side were 
well over! this one day only; the rest he was ready to en- 
counter. 

Stephana, all composure and calm joyousness, divined noth- 
ing of what was going on in his mind. With an unconscious 
look of confidence she now let one fair white hand rest for a 
moment on his arm. To Valerian that exquisite touch seemed 
like a fiery grip ; he felt himself growing sick with fear and 
apprehension. But Stephana merely said, with a charming 
smile, “ Ask Arthura to show you our beautiful preparations 
whilst I act the cicerone to our cousin.” 

She now gave her arm to Christina ; Colette had vanished. 
Valerian found himself with Arthura alone. He had never 
seen her look so superbly, so distractingly handsome, and 
although the moment before out of countenance and out of 
heart, lie regained self-possession now. Anhura at least knew 


disarmed: 


177 


nothing of his imbroglio, and the mere fact of being able to 
whisper what he would in her ear seemed to make all things 
smooth. “ May I come and see you to-morrow at your own 
home > ” 

“ Will not Stephana want you ? ” 

He turned round sharply and looked her full in the face, 
but nothing was there, he thought, to dismay him. The ques- 
tion was put out of girlish curiosity, perhaps not without a 
touch of natural jealousy, nothing more. 

“ And what if half a dozen to-morrows } ” 

The sweet sense of returning intimacy, and the conviction 
that nothing would be easier than to throw himself on Ste- 
phana’s magnanimity, filled Valerian with growing self-confi- 
dence and ease. He was about to utter some lover-like rhap- 
sody, when the blare of trumpets was heard at the gateway. 

“ That is the signal. Mr. Markham and his thousand have 
arrived,” exclaimed Arthura. “ We must not linger for a 
moment.” 


CHAPTER XLH. 

True enough it was the blind magician and the troop he 
had enchanted with his wand ; every soul now so triumph- 
antly marshaled under his banners having been brought to 
believe, Markham himself could hardly say how, “ in the 
Golden Age which lies before us and not behind.” 

That inspiriting sound of trumpets, usually associated in 
our minds with state pageantries that have no meaning, but 
echoed tumultuous joy, stirring a thousand hearts no more 
accustomed to excitement of such joyous kind than were the 
ears of these happy people to such transporting music. As 
one crowded car after another, each a veritable bower on 
wheels, came within the precincts, the band drawn up in readi- 
ness struck up a loud and triumphant strain. Then the gar- 
landed and flower-bedecked carriages passed under a hand- 
some triumphal archway showing in golden letters the motto, 
“ God bless the people ! ” whilst the banners floating on every 
side bore other inscriptions as new and as appropriate. What 
a welcome for those who had never in all their lives been wel- 
comed before, who see even the most solemn occurrences of 
life daily passing before their eyes without any accompani- 
ment to stamp them on the imagination and the memory ! 

12 


178 


DISARMED. 


Alike birth, marriage, death, the greeting after long years, the 
supreme valediction, all come and go as mere breaking of 
daily bread and girding up of the loins daily toil. 

But to-day the order of things was reversed, and instead of 
princes, Stephana had bidden sovereignty of quite other kind 
with royal circumstance to enter her gates. Want and misery 
were made to smile, the brows of penury wreathed with flow- 
ers, and torpid pulses quickened for the first time with wine. 

“ Welcome ! Welcome ! ” 

This was the word that amid a thousand more of the same 
joyous significance met every eye but one of the happy hun- 
dreds soon peopling Stephana’s grounds in every part. Mark- 
ham was compelled to realize the bewildering scene by the 
light of inner vision only. Perhaps, indeed, he really saw 
more than any other present, every presumable feature in the 
scene being thus heightened by the imaginative faculty. The 
loud, merry strains of music, the animated voices, the ejacu- 
lations of wonder and admiration on every side must have 
affected him in this way as, led by a little child, he made the 
circuit of the place, ‘‘ to see everything,” she had said, heed- 
lessly, although, indeed, her artless descriptions made him 
see them and far more. 

“ Now,” she said, “ a beautiful lady is coming toward 
us.” 

“ You have already described so many beautiful ladies,” 
Markham answered, smiling. 

* “ Ah ! this is the most beautiful of all,” answered the child. 
“ She has hair black as a raven’s wing, and something that 
shines in it like a little star, and her dress is all white, with 
another star that twinkles on her bosom. I think it must be 
an angel.” 

“ I think so too,” Markham made laughing reply. “ But I 
know that lady. Take me too her.” 

In another moment Stephana was by his side, and gayly 
dismissing the child with a kiss — she felt in the mood to em- 
brace every one to-day — she took his arm. 

“ I must keep you a prisoner,” she began to Markham. 
“ You are master of the ceremonies, you know, and there is 
no little marshaling to be done. In the first place, how are 
we to get all these good people together for the masque ? It 
will be given at once, and as soon as all are seated I have 
ordered cool drinks to be handed round.” 

“ If sitting room is provided, have no fear,” Markham an- 
swered, drawing from his pocket a tiny musical instrument. 


disarmed: 


179 


“ This is how I call my birds together/’ he said, straightway 
putting it to his lips. 

The sound was not loud, but penetrating, and it reached 
the farthest recesses of the grounds. Like birds flocking at 
the cry of the caller came Stephana’s guests, thronging round 
the pair, as motley a crowd as could well be conceived. Sev- 
en Dials can but trick itself out for a holiday in the best it has, 
and the bits of finery displayed here, not only by the woman- 
kind, but by the men, were outlandish enough. Here might 
be seen gowns of a fabric and pattern in high favor several 
generations ago, fashions of older date still, with flowers and 
faded ribbons that must have been worn by brides long since 
laid in their graves and forgotten. There was something 
extremely pathetic in the persistence with which anything 
that could be called personal adornment had been seized on and 
utilized. Stephana’s guests, all, be it remembered, poorest 
of the poor, could not, when bidden to a feast, go a-shopping 
as the phrase runs. They could only furbish up such gala 
garments and gauds as they already possessed — a brooch 
here, precious heirloom, in moments of direst want pledged 
and redeemed a dozen times, a watch chain there, which had 
seen the same vicissitudes, with white frocks for the children, 
white still after years of lying by in London smoke, and rib- 
bons, dyed and re-dyed at home, knotting every little girl’s 
hair. If the garb of these poor London people was pathetic, 
telling a tale of privation and endurance that the more fort- 
unate part of humankind can not realize, much less imagine, 
for themselves, much more so were the faces of the wearers. 
Sorrow and pain spare none, care is written at some time or 
other on every brow, but what painter can depict, what pen 
can describe, the corrugations of pinching poverty, the pallor 
of want, the indelible marks of perpetual struggle and grind- 
ing anxieties read here To-day a smile played on every lip, 
and a look of almost childish beguilement was seen in every 
face, but the suffering of a lifetime can not be forgotten in an 
hour. Even Stephana could not work such a wonder. These 
emaciated countenances were to be freshened and these 
enfeebled frames invigorated in the happy life • beyond sea, 
but not in a day, not in a year even, barely in a lifetime. It 
was a work for the all-healer Time. The crowd had now 
gathered round Stephana and her companion, listening ex- 
pectantly for what was to come. As yet this wonderful day 
was an enigma and a mystery to them, but by little and little 
they felt that all would be made clear. 


disarmed: 


i8o 

“ My fellow-guests,” began Markham, feeling that a little 
pleasant raillery and banter would be well-timed, “ we all 
know that when we are bidden to a feast something is expect- 
ed of us. People do not give us champagne and creams for 
nothing. Well, we have come here, first to be made wise, 
and next to be made merry, and any one who can help us in 
either matter is called upon to do so. Now our first business 
being to be made wise, we have all straightway to take our 
places demurely in yonder amphitheater, and listen without ut- 
tering a syllable to what we shall hear. 

“ When the beautiful performance is over, any one who will 
stand up and say a few words about it and try to explain it to 
his neighbors will be listened to attentively. Then — But 
there are so many features in the programme that I can not 
enumerate them all. Enough to say that the most important 
after the fairy spectacle we are now going to witness is the 
banquet. Our hostess will preside, and will say a few words 
to you at the close. Away, then ; let us hie to our 
places.” 

In an incredibly short space of time the vast pleasure- 
ground was cleared of the last straggler, and like birds con- 
gregated together before the autumnal fiight southward Ste- 
phana’s happy people in one compact crowd awaited the com- 
ing spectacle. There there sat smiling and wondering, una- 
ware of the fact that they themselves made a spectacle of 
deepest interest to some of the by-standers. For this artless 
bewilderment, this intense, almost childish satisfaction at the 
prospect of amusement, painted on every face, was moving to 
behold. The very word amusement conveyed as yet but a 
dim and indistinct meaning to most of them. They felt 
much as a handful of their numbers had done when sent the 
year before on an excursion to the sea-side. The sea, the 
sea, what could it be like ? To-day the feeling uppermost in 
every mind was of curiosity. A fairy masque, an allegory 
with music and singing, what was that t Perplexed and delight- 
ed, all of them for the nonce turned into five-year-old children, 
they sat with eyes fixed on the elegant stage before them, at 
present all silence and emptiness, soon to be turned into a 
scene of enchantment. 

The little ones, found room for on the knees of their elders, 
were not more flushed with eagerness than they, as the bliss- 
ful moment drew near. Even sherbert and strawberries lost 
their charm, and by-and by impatience began to be manifest- 
ed in a few timid taps of walking-sticks and umbrellas. 


DISARMED. 


“ Won't they ever come ? ” asked one child on the verge of 
bursting into tears. 

“ What can they be about } ” said another. 

Impatience, indeed, had reached the highest pitch, when 
at last the signal was given, the band played a short intro- 
ductory movement, and the beautiful show began. 

Stephana had purposely withheld anything in the shape of 
a programme or elucidation. The best part of a poem or of 
any imaginative work, she said, is that part we all find out for 
ourselves, and if our allegory is meaningless without such aid, 
no amount of explanation can make it clear. 

And now the masquerade began. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

It was not at all likely that Stephana’s audience should be 
alive to the elaborate structure of her allegory and the thought 
upon thought involved in the leading idea. What they saw 
and realized as one gorgeous procession after another with 
music and banners now passed before the proscenium and 
took its station on the stage was this : 

First, heralded by joyous trumpetings, came an emblemat- 
ic personage representing Britannia, superb matron and sea- 
queen, drawn in a car, all the insignia of empire there, and 
the accessories familiar to us all given on an imposing scale. 
As she was slowly and majestically wheeled to her station on 
the right hand of the stage a chorus of little boys dressed as 
Jack Tars sang a patriotic sea-song, and a gigantic union- 
jack was sent flying as if by magic high above the heads of 
the car. 

The band now struck up “ Hail, Columbia ! ” Next came 
Columbia. She, as beloved imperial daughter of an imperial 
mother, was fair and stately to see. Her brows showed a 
circlet set with thirteen stars, emblematic of the glorious Thir- 
teen, whilst the shield she bore was richly emblazoned with the 
Indian’s head and the figure of Liberty. The famous motto 
E Pluribus Unum was given in letters of gold. 

Following Columbia came a gay and motley procession : 
little black boys and girls in bright dresses, red Indians in 
their war gear, and many other impersonations. They bore 
the national banner, and as they crossed the stage sang lus- . 
tily in chorus ; 


i 82 


• disaj^med: 


“’Tis the star-spangled banner, oh, long may it wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave 1 ” 

Rich and suggestive was the appearance of the stage now, 
the right side being occupied with the allegorical pageant of 
Britannia, the left with that of Columbia ; and it seemed to 
the enraptured audience — although as yet not a word had 
been spoken by either of those majestic personages — that 
the spectacle was complete. Was it not enough to behold 
such an impersonation of Britannia, the foster-mother of 
every man, woman, and child present, in the spirit if not in 
the letter, the arbitress of every fate, the mistress of every 
destiny, the love of all ? Fitting, too, was it that the no less 
majestic daughter should he there too — that blooming Col- 
umbia, emblematic of the new empire and the new destiny 
awaiting generations unborn beyond seas. 

The pageant, however, was but half over, and scarcely was 
the hubbub of admiration and bewilderment hushed when a 
third procession was ushered in to the sound of slow and 
solemn music. 

No part of the performance surpassed the representation 
of the old Father Time. There was Mr. Constantine, bald 
as an egg, a halo round about his head, a long white beard 
drooping on his breast, on one shoulder the emblematic 
scythe, whilst from both drooped wings. Very venerable 
and picturesque he looked, and very impressive the utter- 
ances that now dropped from his lips. 

“ Hail, sweet ladies and honest gentlemen all ! ” he said, 
and he leaned on his staff in the middle of the stage, and 
looked up with a keen, searching smile. “ Ah ! when Time 
was young ’twas but a few who got these gentle names, and 
now every mother’s son and daughter of you claims ’em, and 
rightly, too. Let us be jealous of ’em, for they mean nothing 
or what should belong to all — independence, a high mind, a 
spirit to protect the weak. Every Eve shall be a lady, every 
Adam a gentleman, ere old Time’s beard is half a yard 
longer. Hearken, dear babes and bantlings, ’tis old Father 
Time himself speaking; ye won’t hear him any more ! Give 
me, then, two ears and an understanding, and ye’ll go forth 
the wiser. My little babes and unbreeched urchins, my 
pretty sucklings and stammerers, for is not the oldest white- 
headed grandsire among you as a freshly weaned puppet to 
Father Time, who never had a beginning and will never have 
any end at all? Well,” here he struck his staff on the 


disarmed:' 


1^3 

ground, “ one thing let me hammer into your understandings. 
These modern times have scotched a serpent, of most ven- 
omous bite too. Its name is Privilege. Privilege is under 
the heel of honest men. The future of the world shall be- 
long to ALL ! No more prerogative except of inner manful- 
ness and sterling worth, no more rank but of merit and virtue ! 
So look well before and after. Let the woman’s standard 
be the man’s also. Keep your minds pure, your bodies 
chaste. Be pitiful to the.beast. Let each individual’s soul 
be as the just ruler of a fair kingdom. For heed the admoni- 
tions of Father Time ! Man is born no slave to evil, but 
f7'ee to choose the good ! Hail, Columbia! worthier daughter 
of a worthy mother. Father Time turns to thee with the rapt- 
ure of a young lover a-wooing. No stars in the heaven 
fairer than the thirteen that glitter on thy brow, since they 
symbolize the right of mankind over its own destiny, and the 
right of one the right of all ! Take these children. School 
them to independence and virtue. Whip the foolish and 
the lazy. Place a fool’s cap on the dunce. Spare not the 
birch. But, dear goddess and school-mistress of the whole 
wide world, let none shame thee and their country — Father 
Time’s all-hail, amen, and final God bless you ! ” 

The most poetic and enchanting part of the performance 
was Steppie Sadgrove’s impersonation of Hope. For weeks, 
nay, months past, she had conjured up before her mind’s eye 
this much dreaded yet much-coveted scene, when sadness 
should drop from* her as by magic, and for once, if for once 
only, she should be transformed into Hope’s living embodi- 
ment. Nothing but a feeling of exhilaration was needed to 
work the necessary outward change. Steppie’s gentle feat- 
ures, almost infantine still in their tenderness of outline and 
delicacy, had little look of care or maturity about them ; a 
rosy smile, adimpling of the cheek, a soft brightness of the 
eyes, and the wonderful transformation was complete. 

As Steppie now appeared, surrounded by little Loves, 
rosy, cherubic, like herself, intoxicated with joy, she seemed 
to tread on air, enamored for the moment ^of rapture and 
bliss. One idea and one only was present to her mind, one 
phrase echoed and re-echoed to her memory : 

“ All Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair.” 

A lovely line it is, and lovely it made Steppie look, as it 
took almost demoniac possession of her now. That fair yel- 


184 


disai^med:^ 


low hair of hers was tossed as ecstatically as the tresses of a 
bacchante, her blue eyes shone with mild luster, her lips 
were parted in a rosy smile. She seemed to herself to be 
smiling on all the world, to have come down from some up- 
per region on purpose to smile, and for one brief moment it 
did seem to her as if she should go on smiling to the end of 
her life. Surely no transitory joyance, no hallucinatory ex- 
uberance was this, but a passage from one condition of being 
to another, a kind of resurrection to a new, more sunny life. 

Steppie, looking round her, and seeing all these sallow, 
care-worn faces lighted up by her own smiles, catching the 
reflex of her own matchless mood, for a moment surpassed 
herself. She was drunken, but not with wine ; her heart was 
made glad by a stimulant of less gross kind as she now 
smiled away the sadness of her own and a thousand hearts. 
“ Oh ! ” she whispered to Arthura, a little later, when, all ex- 
citement over, she wiped away the jo}dul tears from her 
flushed cheeks — “ oh ! I should be sc)^appy if I were not so 
miserable ! ” 

It were hard to say what part of the spoken programme 
delighted the audience most — Britannia’s farewell charge to 
her children and the step-mother to whose care she now con- 
signed them ; Columbia’s reply, worded in the same magnan- 
imous spirit ; the weighty monitions of Time ; or, lastly, the 
sweet, joyful utterances of Hope. 

They understood every word — so, at least, they thought — 
as one by one the speakers advanced to' the front of the 
stage and spoke in stately monologue — Britannia’s parting 
admonition, Columbia’s welcome. Time’s oracular utterance, 
Hope’s artless oratory. What else could all these mean but 
that they were to grow better, wiser, and happier in the New 
World and the new life awaiting them ? One long word 
sounded very much like another in their unaccustomed ears, 
but the mere sound was inspiriting and oracular. Yes, 
scripture itself was no clearer. They were going to a better 
land, and first on this side of the grave, not the other. A 
Providence, after all, had been watching over them, and the 
good things of life were not henceforth to be the exclusive 
portion of the rich — that is to say, the envied. 

With the same smiles of childish wondering enjoyment 
they now dispersed to enjoy the flowers and shrubberies till 
the banquet should take place. This pleasant interlude, no 
less grateful to hosts than guests, lasted upward of an hour 
without anything that could be called an incident. The 


disarmed: 


185 

children fed Stephana’s swans on their miniature lake, the 
young girls studied the beautiful dresses of the ladies, the 
old folks sunned themselves, the men curiously inspected the 
mechanical arrangements of the theater and pavilion. All 
were silent, demure, and happy. 

Of the banquet no need to say a word. There was noth- 
ing enigmatic or oracular here, only plain, unmistakable en- 
joyment and instruction of a solid kind. Every one of the 
unaccustomed cates before them conveyed not only a pleas- 
ure but a lesson. The best possible lesson in cookery, in- 
deed, is a bidding to a well-cooked dinner, and nothing we 
can preach about moderation and good manners so eifective 
as example. 

Herein was matter for thought for the hundreds of guests 
whose meals had been all their lives taken anyhow — some- 
times not taken at all, and under the best of circumstances 
so poor and scanty as to afford hardly a gratification. 

The banquet drawn to a close, and some toasts drunk 
with those light sweet Southern wines which just exhilarate 
and nothing more, it was Stephana’s turn to say a few words. 

Lovely indeed she looked as she stood up to perform this 
duty, her dress pure white, diamonds flashing in her dark 
hair and on her bosom ; just behind her, the pair forming a 
stalking contrast, red rose and white, Arthura in her sump- 
tuous dress, with its rich crimson roses, warm carnation in 
her cheeks and on her lips, while Stephana’s pearly com- 
plexion was paler than ever. 

It was a simple speech enough that Stephana made, but it 
went straight as an arrow to every heart. She said exactly 
what a kind, wise friend should say under such circum- 
stances — nothing approaching the sentimental — all crystal 
clear, forcible, to the purpose. 

As she came to an end she glanced at Valerian and 
paused. Then, blushing rosy-red, she added, her voice clear 
as a bell, reaching every ear : “ I have a last word to say, and 
I am sure it will please you all to hear it. I have already 
mentioned one true friend of mine and yours ; ” here she in- 
clined her head toward Markham, sitting near. ‘‘ I must not 
leave off without speaking of another, since to him both 
you and I are equally indebted. You must know whom I 
mean : this kind and indefatigable friend, who went as a pi- 
oneer into the New World to select fair lands for you, who 
will ere long — that I dare undertake to promise — visit you, 
to see how all is prospering ; nor will he come alone. We 


^^nrSARMED. 


1 86 

shall have your hearty prayers and wishes meanwhile, 1 know, 
for I may say to such good friends and well-wishers this 
trusty keeper of mine is to be something more. When I visit 
you in your new, happy world it will be as his wife.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

The hour of separation had come, and yet Stephana’s 
visitors lingered, as if unwilling to break the spell that bound 
them to her presence. All knew that there was now nothing’ 
to stay for. The last carmine streak had vanished from the 
western sky, the dews were falling, the signal for departure 
long ago given ; but nobody stirred an inch in the direction 
of the gateway. It was a sweet place of peace and thanks- 
giving just now, this old-fashioned lawn, and as Stephana 
contemplated it her heart exulted within her. It seemed as 
if her dearest wishes were realized at last, and as if life had 
no more to give. Such moments of ecstasy happen to most 
of us once in a lifetime. Not the mere cup full to the brim 
of joy is raised to our lips, but a drop of elixir worth many 
brimming cups. First and foremost came the joyful convic- 
tion of having proved a kind of Providence to a thousaifcl 
human lives. Thorns might spoil some of their roses ; in 
these new waters ’twould not be all smooth sailing ; but she 
had put each man, woman and child in a fair way of holding 
up the head, showing, indeed, the true manly, true womanly, 
enriching them mentally and bodily so far that they need en- 
vy none. Next to this satisfaction came the feeling that two 
lives at least, and these two knit to her by ties of kindred, 
were made better, if not consciously happier, by her means. 
Christina lived now in the light of truth, and need no longer 
dread imminent retribution and remorse. Such atonement 
as it was in her power to make she had promised, and wheth- 
er or no she thought herself happier, she was so past ques- 
tion. The weight of secret wrong-doing was lifted from her 
conscience. She could look her fellows in the face. 

Over Valerian, Stephana rejoiced most of all. She said to 
herself now that Valerian’s soul was hers indeed, and that 
not only had she awakened a conscience in this somewhat 
shallow nature, she had also touched his heart. Long ago 
he loved her, but he was now in sympathy with her, a result 
she had set more store by. Passionless herself, she had 


disarmed:^ 


187 


never yet been moved by any man’s passion. Valerian’s 
unswerving devotion, however, and uncompromising acquies- 
cence in her wishes did now in reality awaken a warmer feel- 
ing than mere cousinly affection. She was intensely grateful 
to him for all that he had done for her, and drawn to him by 
all the sacrifices he had made on her behalf. All that he had 
to give was hers : time, inclination, talents of no mean order. 
Surely, surely she should be satisfied, and not exact loftiness 
of soul accorded only to the few ! 

It seemed to Stephana just then that it was unreasonable 
to do less than try to love this poor Valerian a little in return 
for loving her so much. And his life hitherto had been a se- 
ries of disappointments and mortifications. She must endeav- 
or to be a Providence to him also, for who needed one more ? 

Of Markham, Stephana thought tenderly and serenely. 
Here all was security and assurance. Markham’s magnani- 
mous soul could well be left to take care of itself ; and if she 
could not requite a no less magnanimous devotion, she could 
comfort herself with the thought that at least he had inner 
consolations. 

If, then, consummate happiness is any mortal’s portion for 
a brief spell, Stephana tasted it at that moment. As her 
eyes rested on the quiet yet animated scene before her they 
filled with blissful tears. This twilight calm, the fair day 
shutting like a flower, the fairer dawn to come, all these 
awakened within her breast a sense of rapturous contentment, 
the deeper because it was impersonal. 

While she lingered thus in a little summer-house on the 
highest ground of her domain, for a moment isolating herself 
from the scattered groups below, soft strains of music caught 
her ear. It was the music of human voices only, and the 
strains, low almost to indistinctness at first, soon swelled into 
a rich volume of sound that reached from one end of the gar- 
den to the other. 

The song that had been begun on the spur of the moment 
by one of the company present is familiar to most, and if an>- 
ticipatory had nevertheless a peculiar appropriateness. If 
strange in the ears of some of these London-bred children, 
the melody was not difficult to catch, and prompters were at 
hand : 

“ Shades of evening, close not o’er us. 

Leave our lonely bark awhile ; 

Morn, alas ! will not restore us 
Yonder dim and distant isle,” 


DISARMED. 


1 88 

So ere long this sweet and simple song — a song no more, 
but one vast harmony of more than a thousand voices — filled 
the place and caught the attention of careless passers-by in 
the streets without. 

At first pensive and tender, soon rising to deep, passionate 
strength, the artless melody, with its moving words, might 
well bring tears to eyes unaccustomed to weep at mere words. 
Not one, however, of Stephana’s guests was in tearful mood 
just then as they gave vent to their feelings in words : 

“ What would I not give to wander 
Where my old companions dwell, 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

Isle of beauty, fare thee well ! ” 

There was just a touch of sentiment, but hardly sorrow, in 
the minds of the emigrants as they now filed past her in little 
bands, directing their steps toward the garden gate, their 
minds being at last made up that they must go. On the long- 
est day of the year who can say when night begins ? And in 
the liquid pearliness of this exquisite twilight every feature of 
the picture was clear as in broad day. 

There was Valerian, having Christina on his arm, whilst 
they halted listening to the song. Valerian joining in it. Not 
far off was Markham, led by a little girl, yet all the time 
leading the whole. And there was Mr. Constantine, his last 
word of wisdom spoken, yet so far overcoming his weariness 
as to wait for departure. And Steppie was there, a child 
among the children, a toddling thing held by each hand — all 
singing as if their very lives depended on it. 

But where was Arthura ? 

The thought had hardly crossed Stephana’s mind when she 
heard her name called, and, looking up, saw her standing 
near. What a contrast the two presented ! Stephana radi- 
ant, yet calm as this silvery twilight ; Arthura atremble and 
aglow with passion, her cheeks red as the roses in her hair, 
her eyes bright as the jewel glittering in Stephana’s. 

Had not Stephana been intensely absorbed by her own 
tranquillizing thoughts she must have noticed the extraordi- 
nary excitement, almost wildness of her companion, reined 
in for the moment, but evident nevertheless. Stephana was 
too happy to be alive to anything going on around her just 
then, and out of the fullness of joy could not resist taking the 
girl’s hand, even kissing her, as a sister might have done in 
some ineffable moment that belonged to both. 


disarmed: 


“ Oh ! ” she cried, “ look at these happy people. Not one 
of all these hundreds of hearts but is mine ! How rich, how 
more than blessed, am I to have such love, such benedic- 
tions ! ” 

Arthura stood for a moment in painfulest conflict. The 
word was on her lips which would for once and for all shake 
these joyous confidences and dispel these blissful illusions. 
How could she say it How could she hold her peace ? It 
seemed to her as she paused thus, a thing of evil passions 
hateful to herself, love like hate within her bosom, that it was 
a bounden duty to turn and flee. What business had she 
among Stephana’s hopes, beautiful as these large midsummer 
flowers shining out of the pearly light ? Better, far better, to 
bury her own miserable passions, and let those who would de- 
lude themselves with dreams of love and loyal affection. 

To Arthura’s warm, robust nature there was sacredness as 
well as mystery about this pale, sweet Stephana ; it seemed 
to her as if, like the mystic lady of the poem, “ she had no 
companion of mortal race ” ; and now, with this burning ha- 
tred at her heart, and almost a craving for common vengeance, 
she still hesitated to speak out. 

Had no Stephana been by and deadly weapons at hand, 
she felt she could have rushed forward to stab her lover’s, 
false lover’s, heart as he stood within ear-shot, outwardly calm 
and smiling, inwardly, it must be, at warfare with himself. 
The soothing influence of Stephana’s presence, the cool even- 
ing hour, the mixed pathos and solemnity of these parting 
strains, for a while checked Arthura’s vindictive mood. 

But at last grief and indignation would have their way. 
Stephana must know all. She could not keep silence a mo- 
ment longer. 

“ Stephana ! ” she cried, breaking from that sisterly hold, 
“ all is not as you think. If there is wizardry in your eyes, 
use it now. Discover the fallen angel, the one black heart 
among all these, and smite him to the ground with scorn 
where he stands ! ” 

Stephana started and looked at Arthura doubtingly, won- 
dering if indeed she were smit with sudden craziness. But 
the truth of the girl’s wild words was written in her face and 
in one other that shrank their gaze now. Arthura’s words he 
had hardly caught, but the meaning of this strange scene 
flashed across Valerian’s mind then. Arthura’s look of pas- 
sion, Stephana’s sad astoundment, the silence, the shock, 
were not to be misinterpreted. In a moment his position be^ 


190 


disarmed: 


came clear to him. There was no place for a Valerian besicle 
these true-hearted women. He had wronged both past for- 
giveness. Except for his mother, he was alone. She at least 
could understand the weakness and crookedness that had let 
him into this pitfall. She at least could never reproach him 
with cowardice and double-dealing. She was disarmed. They 
were quits. Valerian stirred not. His white face told no 
tale in that dim light ; but had Stephana and Arthura been 
able to read it, some compassion might have been awakened 
on his behalf. For the first time in his life he was now 
brought face to face with himself — with meanness, with false- 
ness, with worldliness. Yet in spite of all these, a higher 
aspiration, an instinct of better things, was his. He needed 
something better than the old life begun over again with 
Christina, deprived of all that had before made it bearable 
— Stephana’s friendship, Arthura’s love ! 

Valerian stirred not, although there seemed poltroonery in 
inaction. Once he moved forward, as if impelled to say a 
word on his own behalf, but the faces of the pair were 
averted. They would perhaps turn from him as from a ser- 
pent, perhaps never speak to him again ! 

“ Come,” he said to his companion, “ we are not wanted 
here any longer. Let us go home.” 

“ Without a word of good-by to Stephana,” asked Chris- 
tina, in a tone of surprise. 

“ At least we are not going to America,” he said, as he 
made this retort feeling drearily and bitterly how much wider 
and deeper the gulf between him and these two noble women 
than the broad Atlantic. Then he hurried her away, passing 
unobserved through the crowd of miscellaneous guests to the 
carriage that awaited them at the gateway. 

So whilst Markham marshaled his little bands toward 
their gayly decorated cars, the burden of their song still kept 
up by those who remained in the rear, Stephana and Arthura 
were left more and more to themselves. And soon in that 
heavenly summer twilight, fragrant with lilies and roses, pale, 
silvery stars gleaming out of the pearly heavens, they found 
themselves alone. 

The singing had now died away altogether, and the last 
stragglers had gone, Stephana’s beautiful rose garden aban- 
doned to its mistress. 

With a sudden impulse, half of craving for sympathy, half 
of deep womanly compassion, Stephana now caught the weep- 
ing girl to her bosom, and the pair were fast locked in each 


disarmed: 


191 

other’s arms. To both it was a moment of supreme valedic- 
tion. One wept pure womanly tears, as if her heart were 
breaking over a lost love, the other as an angel over a per- 
jured soul she had tried to redeem ! 


CHAPTER XLV. 

At the eleventh hour Markham had yielded to Stephana’s 
request that he should accompany her little colony to their 
new world. It seemed to him a small concession to make 
after so many, and as much of his heart as was not in Ste- 
phana’s self was in her work. He went off cheerfully, there- 
fore, feeling, perhaps, a secret sense of relief at the notion of 
being out of England for the next few months. 

Nothing definite had been said on the subject in his hear- 
ing, but he could not doubt that on his return he should find 
Stephana wedded to Valerian. The thought was unendur- 
able. The vessel had sailed, then, and Markham with it. 
So at least Stephana believed. She had seen him indeed 
embark in the docks, she had received a penciled farewell 
from the Nore ; she imagined him now in mid-ocean, sur- 
rounded by the dear people he so loved to entertain, telling 
stories interminable, as a minstrel of old. 

What was her amazement, a few days after the hoisting of 
the blue-peter, to hear Markham’s voice in the corridor. 

It was late in the evening, and she sat alone in her favor- 
ite room, an upper chamber, from which she could not only 
hear the turmoil of the great world of London, but could see 
as if from a mountain top the ceaseless ebb and flow of the 
busy crowds below. Generous spirits should ever live on airy 
heights, and thus take in larger vistas of the human bee-hive 
seen at work, and of which they form a section. 

Stephana, catching on a sudden the voice of her blind 
friend, rose joyfully and went out to greet him. Never in all 
her life had she felt in such need of him as now. She al- 
most forgot the inexplicable nature of his appearance in her 
pleasure. 

“ You have come back ? — you have come back to me ? ” 
she cried, as she led him into the room. 

“ Could I stay away } ” he asked. “ You remember my 
promise made nearly two years ago ? You have but sum- 
moned me, and I obey the summons.” 


192 


disarmed:' 


“ I did not write. There was no means of communicating 
with you,” she answered, amazed. Then, on a sudden rec- 
ollecting what had transpired on another parting in this very 
house and in this very room just seventeen months ago, she 
cried, joyfully, “ I remember — I understand. Yes,” she 
answered, taking one of his hands, and letting him feel the 
tears he could not see, “ I have wanted you, my friend. I 
am very desolate.” 

“ There was more than a vague feeling of loneliness. 
There was an invocation, a summons. But let me tell you 
everything, and you shall then say whether or -no I have been 
dreaming,” he said, stirred with deep, unutterable content- 
ment. “ Listen, then, to my story. We were at anchor off 
Plymouth two nights ago, about this very time, and in another 
hour or two the pilot-boat was to return to shore with letters, 
and we were to be fairly under sail. I sat alone, my head 
bowed on my breast, lost in thought, while the rest amused 
themselves with watching the lights and general bustle of the 
town. As I sat thus the confusion of voices around me 
seemed to die away on my ears, and in the silence and still- 
\ ness — imaginary, of course, for the hubbub of voices and 
commotion was indescribable, only in my reverie I heard it 
not — all was hushed about me, then, for a little space, and 
on a sudden — it was as if the voice was close by — I was 
called by name, and the voice I heard was yours.” 

He raised his head, with a look of intense, passionate joy, 
as if light must break upon the darkness for an instant, and 
for once — for once only — the face of his beloved would be 
revealed to him. 

“ Oh ! ” he cried, “ I seemed to see you then as I seem to 
see you now. There were tears on your cheek, as there are 
at this moment, and your voice was one not of farewell, but 
of greeting — of earnest entreaty and appeal. Once, twice, 
thrice I heard the words, ‘ Markham, Markham, will you, too, 
abandon me ? ’ they said. Yes, you can not deny it. They 
were thine. The moment so vehemently desired, so sweet to 
think on, that I said it should more than console me for my 
misfortune, had come. In spirit thou hadst claimed me.” 

Stephana was silent ; a nobler emotion than pride checked 
her utterance. All that sympathy and compassion had said 
so long on Markham’s behalf a deeper feeling was saying 
now ; yet she hesitated. Other promptings made themselves 
heard also. 

Even in her forlornness and disenchantment she did not 


*93 


DISARMEDr 

feel wholly to belong to herself, much less to Markham. 
Valerian’s lapse seemed a warning that all wedded to the 
general weal should stand alone. The work she had set her- 
self to do needed less love than a steady purpose to aid her 
own uncompromising self-abnegation, to keep her company. 
“ Oh ! ” she said, imploringly, leaning her own soul on his, 
trying to make him understand these inner conflicts, “ what 
does the rest matter ? You and I surely should not think of 
ourselves.” 

“At least, then, tell me that I was not dreaming. Two 
nights ago, at this very hour, you did indeed in spirit call upon 
my friendship, my love ? ” 

Ah me for Markham that he could not see that fine blush 
mantling her pale cheeks ! The sigh he did hear, and the 
just perceptible tremor in her voice told him more. 

“ Your summons must mean all or nothing,” he went on. 
“You have discovered Valerian’s inadequacy. All is over 
between you and your cousin ? ” 

Stephana was silent. 

“ I felt all along that it must be so,” Markham added. 
“ Heaven forbid that I should judge another ! In one point 
only I hold myself worthier of you than poor Valerian. My 
soul lies open to your own as a book. Read it by the light 
of a midsummer-day. No words there my own love must not 
see.” 

“ You are my best, dearest friend,” Stephana murmured. 
“ Is not that enough ? When the best thoughts of two beings 
are in perfect unison there is a marriage of souls.” 

“ But a marriage of souls is no bond,” Markham answered, 
almost bitterly. “ Your home may not be mine. Any accident 
may divide us to-morrow. I measure the height and depth 
and length and breadth of the sacrifice I ask at your hands,” 
went on the blind lover. You shall not make it in vain. You 
will give heavenly consolation to a darkened life. Your best 
requital will be the joy of another.” 

“ If I yield I should belong to you — to the calls of duty no 
longer,” Stephana urged. 

“ May not love sometimes be highest duty And think 
not you can live alone. That cry of desolation I heard two 
days ago still rings in my ears. Stephana, beloved, you need 
me even as I need you.” 

He stretched out his hands to find her own in the night per- 
petually about him, and Stephana let him clasp them. He 
had come to her in a time of such desolation that she could 
*3 


m 


DISARMED: 


not choose but cling to him. And for the first time, perhaps, 
she realized to the full what the loneliness of his own life 
must be — compelled even to trust himself to others in the 
least little thing, to be led hither and thither as a child, the 
beauty of the human face, the miracles of art, the joyous, 
shifting revelry of the visible world hid from his gaze forever 
and forever and forever. Was she not bound to become as the 
light of the eyes to the much-tried, heavenly, patient soul ? — 
whilst striving to do good to many lives, to be a guardian angel 
to this one ? Lastly, Stephana could but feel that Markham 
was the only being in the world who had ever really under- 
stood her. The subtle spiritual gifts she felt conscious of 
were matched here. All the influence she could exercise over 
her fellows Markham could wield too, but by different means. 
That voice of his had power to fascinate and to soothe, even 
as her own eyes were said to do ; and by some strange faculty, 
akin to those with which she was endowed, he could read her 
thoughts and anticipate her most secret wishes. Oh ! was 
there not something better, higher, deeper even than love 
here — some voice of destiny, which is the voice of God ? 

And in that moment of uncertain, joyous hesitancy Ste- 
phana’s thoughts went farther still, for let it not be supposed 
that the act of turning a thousand poor London artisans into 
landed proprietors seemed to her more than a stepping-stone 
to better things. This was a mere piece of beneficence, the 
gratification of a magnanimous whim. Her notion of doing 
good had a deeper root, and was based upon keener insight 
into the truth of things, than hand-to-mouth philanthropy. 
And to attain her purpose could she have a better helper than 
Markham, the man of stainless soul, of more than womanly 
tenderness, of a courage that dreaded no ridicule, no rebuff ? 
Yes; they were surely brought together for good. Va- 
lerian ! Valerian ! Was it of such poor stuff the world’s 
reformers are made ? And Stephana saw all things clearly 
now — the mysterious call to England, its reference to Vale- 
rian, the meaning of the heraldic emblazonry, the blank 
scroll. Her mission had been to restitute Valerian in his 
right ; to unburden Christina’s bosom of secret wrong ; to 
reconcile mother and son ; and last, yet first, to awaken in 
Valerian — the heir of the Gossip-Hermitage family — a con- 
science for the adequate disposal of his fortune. All this was 
done. Was she not free to think of herself ? Was not her 
deep, unconfessed love for Markham a call that shovild be 
followed also ? 


disarmed: 


“ You have said it,” she said. I do heed you — hot only 

how, but always.” 

It was surely no unmanliness that brought the happy tears 
to Markham’s withered eyes then. His hitherto irremediable 
ill seemed healed. He needed the light no longer. Enough 
of brightness, sweetness, and beauty was now to be his por- 
tion, For a moment he took her, lover-like, in his arms and 
pressed his lips to her forehead. “ Kind God in heaven ! ” 
he whispered, “ what have I done to be made so happy ? 

“ Nay,” Stephana retorted, as she sat down by his side ; 
“ say, rather, what shall I do in return for being made so 
happy ? — if, indeed, the service to which you are binding 
yourself can be called happiness at all.” 

Markham smiled on the sweet task-mistress he could not 
see, and would fain have prolonged this lover-like confabu- 
lation — would have tried to win yet another promise ere he 
went. 

But in love as in friendship Stephana swayed him to her 
will. Love is made up half of mystery, half of expectation, 
and she new well enough, that as lovers they should never 
be happier in each other than now. Seven years, and seven 
years more, he must serve his apprenticeship to love, if to 
her it should seem good. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

If Stephana had vanquished herself, another victoty yet 
remained to be won harder still. The first disillusion of 
her life had made her afraid of love, and at the root of her 
wavering toward Markham from the first was this feeling of 
distrust. His love for her was of long ago ; but although 
strangely attracted to him, not only by the tenderness of his 
nature — have not all rare men the tenderness of a woman ? 
— but by his misfortune, she had even repelled it, fearing lest 
her own, if once awakened, might suffer disillusion. A 
woman can understand but one man in the world — her 
lover ; and Stephana feared that even Markham’s character 
might not bear that fearful scrutiny, that terrible ordeal, the 
life of two that becomes the life of one. Now she doubted 
no longer. Markham’s existence was to be consoled by the 
sweetness of home, domesticity, nearness ; and in return he 
was to be her helper, adviser, fellow-worker. At least, if she 


196 


DISARMED:'’ 


gave much, she should receive more in returh. But that 
other reconciliation on which her mind was bent — how 
should she make peace between Arthura and Valerian ? 
The palinode was to be spoken, the kiss of peace ac- 
corded. But by what means was a real reconciliation to 
be brought about ? A few days afterward Valerian came to 
see her. He had nerved himself up to this interview, which 
was to be the prelude of one with Arthura. He must see 
her, must pour out his soul to her, and only Stephana could 
help him. 

“ Let us be friends, my cousin,” were Stephana’s first 
calm re-assuring words. “ And let us both forget and forgive. 
There can not be another syllable to say.” 

She held out her hand, but Valerian did not raise it to 
his lips. He sat down opposite to her, haggard, ill at ease, 
remorseful. “ Perhaps you are right,” he replied. “ Little 
use to talk of what is done, and can never be undone. Thank 
God, we are cousins,” he added, with a grim smile. “ You 
are bound to exercise Christian charity toward me, if for 
no other reason, because I am of your own blood.” 

Stephana smiled. How Valerian’s nature showed itself 
in every deed and word ! 

“ To my thinking that were a reason for hard judgment — 
at any rate, inplacable justice,” she made reply. “ But what 
conceivable right has any human being to judge another, 
unless when brought face to face as criminal and judge ? ” 

“ You will not turn your back upon me, then ? ” Valerian 
asked, humbly. You will not wholly give me up?” 

“ Are you not my kinsman ? ” said Stephana, again smiling. 
“ Relatives are bound to each other for weal or woe.” Her 
cheerfulness somewhat took Valerian aback. 

“ Have I not received you to-day friendlily as of old ? ” 

Valerian was dumb. 

“ We have turned a new page. Let neither of us ever so 
much as once glance backward,” Stephana said. “ What you 
have to do now is to make peace with Arthura and regain her 
confidence.” 

“Will you help me ? ” Valerian asked, fully understanding 
his position with regard to Stephana. They were cousins. 
They would never be anything more. 

“ Because, if you will,” he said, eagerly, “ I shall take it as 
a sign that you forgive me and trust me still.” 

Stephana perused him narrowly. 

“ Of course I will,” she said at last, “ and of course you 


disarmed: 


197 


will prove worthy of trust, where Arthura is concerned,” she 
added, quickly; “for, dear Valerian, let us now by common 
consent bury this ignoble little past and think of what is com- 
ing. This very day I will go and see Arthura.” 

Then they talked of many things — of Christina, of her 
plans, of her gratification at having seen Arthura again. 
Stephana had to tell Valerian to go, so relieved was he to be 
able at last to talk to her with perfect openness. And when 
he did go, it was with a much lighter heart than he had come. 
Stephana’s lofty-minded pardon arose, doubtless, from entire 
indifference to himself. That was humiliating. But it 
smoothed .the way. It made welcome possibilities seem 
near. 

That same day Stephana drove to Russell Square, about 
the time she felt sure of finding Arthura. The pair had not 
met since the passionate confidences of the festive evening. 
It often happens that the complete outpouring of heart and 
heart is followed by a feeling of shyness. As far as Valerian 
was concerned, neither Arthura nor Stephana could reveal 
anything more ; and perhaps both felt a little sorry and a 
little womanly shame at having already said so much. Arthu- 
ra’s proud secret was out. She did, indeed — did once — love 
this shallow, plausible, vacillating Valerian with all her 
heart ; and Stephana, in her indignation, had shown with 
what hopeful affection and interest she had for a short space 
clung to him, and with what whole-heartedness she had 
believed in him. 

When they met to-day, therefore, it was with a shrinking 
on both sides, and, at least on Arthura’s, a disinclination to 
personal talk. Hardly were the first greetings over before 
Stephana declared her errand. Sitting close to Arthura, 
holding the girl’s hands in hers, and fixing on her those beau- 
tiful dark-brown eyes, that seemed to soothe even when they 
inspired a feeling almost akin to awe, she said, smiling quietly, 
“ You will never, never guess what I have come to say to you.” 

Arthura lifted one of Stephana’s hands to her cheek and 
kissed it passionately. The only strong, beautiful, righteous 
thing in the world just then, the girl thought, was this fair, 
mystic creature, whose business seemed the consolation of 
others. 

“ I hare come to say that you must marry Valerian,” 
Stephana added, still in the quietest voice, while she watched 
her companion. 

“ Ask me rather to marry the coward that has run away 


98 


disarmed: 


from battle ! But not Valerian. And he would not dare to 
do it. He would fear me.” 

As Arthura uttered these words, with red cheeks and unus- 
ually bright eyes, it did seem indeed as if anyone who had 
wronged her might tremble with fear then. Just such passion 
and outraged feeling as hers turn trembling, faint-hearted 
maidens into vengeance-dealing Dirae. Her tall, slight figure 
was drawn up, and her young face dark with angry passion. 

“ If I am wicked, I will do other penance for it,” she cried, 
weeping bitterly. “ And I will follow your behest, Stephana, 
in all else. There is an evil spirit in me now. I almost feel 
as if it would be sweet to me to make Valerian suffer. Were 
he drowning, I should, perhaps, withhold the rope that might 
save his life. But I will do him no harm, if you keep him out 
of my sight ; only I must hate him in peace for a little 
while.” 

Stephana waited till the passion should be over, without a 
word. Arthura went on, weeping : “ I did shameful things 

for his sake. I lied — not with my tongue, but with my acts — 
out of love for him. How kind Miss Hermitage was to me, 
to us both ! And all the time we were deceiving her. You, 
too, you were kinder than the angels, and he let me, he made 
me, act lies to you. Oh, Stephana ! never talk to me of mar- 
riage at all. There may be other Valerians in the world. I 
can be happy as I am.” 

She threw herself on her knees by Stephana’s side, still 
shaken with passion. “ I will ever love you as if you were 
something more than an ordinary mortal,” she said, laying 
her head on Stephana’s bosom. While she lay thus Stephana 
leaned over her tenderly, as a mother tending a feverish child, 
lifting the hair from her hot brow, fanning the hot cheeks. 
But it was the quiet magic of her eyes that did at last, and 
by little and little, calm the girl’s wild mood. After a time 
the passion spent itself, and she lay in her friend’s arms, pale 
and listless, an image of sorrow, but of vindictiveness no 
longer. 

“ I am very wicked. You must drive the demon out of 
me,” she said, looking up into her companion’s face, as if 
sure of reading there, if a sentence, with it absolution. 

“You will marry Valerian,” Stephana repeated, as she 
spoke feeling the thrill of dismay that ran through Arthura’s 
frame. 

“ Listen to me,” Stephana said, using all the fascinations 
she was mistress of, compelling Arthura to look into the 


DISARMED.^ 


199 


depths of her persuasive eyes. Valerian would fain make 
reparaliob. Will you not let him do so ? ” 

“ We should hate each other. Life would be intolerable 
to both of us.” 

“ Hear me out,” Stephana interposed, gently ; and when 
you have heard to the end you will see that I am right, and 
that you are wrong. Valerian was never in the spirit, only 
in the letter, unfaithful to you, and for such unfaithfulness I 
was greatly to blame. I never for a moment dreamed that 
he might be in love when I acceded to a request made years 
before he knew you. There was weakness, duplicity, in Va- 
lerian’s behavior, if you will, but not changeableness. He 
never loved any woman but yourself. Our marriage was to 
have been of friendship only. Think for a moment on the 
various motives that may actuate a man with which love has 
nothing to do. Valerian had his way to make in the world. 
There were many reasons why, at that juncture in his affairs, 
he could not openly go against my wishes. His very love 
for you drove him into double-dealing. He wanted to se- 
cure my good-will — which meant worldly fortune — just be- 
cause he loved you and wanted to marry you.” 

Arthura listened, unconvinced. Stephana went on, more 
encouragingly still : “ I have seen Valerian. He has poured 
out his heart to me as brother to sister. And here he must 
be true, since every word is proved by his deeds. It is in 
my heart, not yours, that resentment should exist, since he 
made use of my kindly feelings toward him in order to serve 
his own purpose. I have no rancor. He never cared for 
me at all except as a possible benefactress. I shall always 
be as ready to help him as I have been.” 

Then she added, with a generous glow on her pale cheeks : 

‘‘ You must marry him, dear Arthura, if you have any heart 
and soul at all. All is now made up between him and his 
mother. He will some day inherit her enormous wealth. 
But the only value it can have in his eyes now is the prospect 
of sharing it with you and yours,” she said, smiling insinuating- 
ly. “ TMnk of it, Arthura ! These little step brothers and 
sisters you love so dearly are to be made participators of Va- 
lerian’s good fortune. He will act the part of father to 
them.” 

“Did he say so.^” asked Arthura, with a childish expres- 
sion of contentment. 

“ He did indeed. And there is another consideration 
which I think you will understand. Would you have Vale- 


200 


^‘disarmed: 


rian's wealth squandered as Miss Hermitage squanders hers ? 
Will you not help him to use his fortune as a conscientious, 
high-minded man should do ? You are not worldly, I know ; 
you do not care to be rich.” 

“ Ah ! ” Arthura said, the bright, audacious spirit re-as- 
serting itself at last, “I see it all, Stephana. You are us- 
ing wizardry. You will make me marry Valerian, and when 
we are rich you will make us do exactly with his money as 
you like.” 

“ Would you mind that ? ” Stephana asked, playfully. 

“Not if the children had new shoes when they wanted 
them, and there was never a baker’s bill,” rejoined Arthura, 
Under this new aspect of affairs cheerfulness seemed possible 
once more. Valerian, the benefactor of Benjamine and 
Walter and Baby, was suddenly transformed into a bearable 
person 1 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

All that a penitent lover could say for himself Valerian 
said next day as he sat opposite the proud, listless Arthura. 
She had not at first a word to utter, but glanced at him, from 
time to time, with a timid, deprecatory look, much as if she 
were asking herself whether indeed he could ever become 
again the Valerian of old to her. It was not till Valerian be- 
gan to dilate upon the children that Arthura realized the 
future he was building up was to be her future as well. 

She even smiled as he spoke of Walter’s prospects — how 
the high-spirited boy should be made a naval cadet, and have 
the dearest wish of his young heart realized, and he should 
be a gallant sailor. Then he talked of Benjamine and Baby. 
They should have as much money spent upon their education 
as she desired ; a dowry should be assigned to each. Nor 
was Steppie forgotten. Her small means should be enlarged. 
She should have more change, more country air, and no 
pinching, no bills. Then, when lover-like eloquence had 
done its utmost, and he also sat silent and listless, she asked, 
very plaintively, 

“ Will you be good to me ? ” 

What a rebuke these artless words conveyed to Valerian’s 
mind ! They revealed to him all that he had lost, all that 
must so painfully be regained as, step by step, and little by 


disarmed:' 


201 


little, he might perhaps, in some remote future, win back 
that generous, trusting affection. 

There seemed nothing more to say ; but how much he 
knew remained to do ! To Arthura was assigned the hard 
task of forgiving bitter wrong ; to Valerian one harder still. 
For forgiveness is ofttimes accorded in a day, an hour ; but 
the reparation for wrong-doing is the up-hill toil of years. 

“Take me to see Miss Hermitage,” said Arthura, on a sud- 
den ; and Valerian drove her back at once, and left the pair 
together. He knew well what she had to say to his mother. 

“ My dear Arthura ! ” cried Miss Hermitage, for so she was 
called still — the secret of a life-time was to accompany her 
to the grave — “ I am very glad to see you, now that you have 
recovered your spirits ; ” and with some surprise though no 
rebuke she let the girl clasp her round the waist and kiss 
her again and again. 

“ Dear, dear Gossip ! I did want to say something to you. 
It was very wrong of me to deceive you about Valerian — ” 

“ Talk of something more entertaining, my dear,” said Miss 
Hermitage, characteristically. “ I hate disagreeables. When 
you are married to Valerian you must live next door to me, 
you know. I must be amused. Why are there so many dull 
people in the world ? ” 

“ A world full of dunces is better than a world full of de- 
mons, anyhow,” said Arthura. 

Miss Hermitage laughed. 

“ Always an unexpected answer from you ; and most peo- 
ple say exactly what you expect. It is so wearisome ! Why 
do they do it ? ” she said, querulously. “Why so dull ? ” 

“ Because people are not made to order, I suppose.” 

“ Ah,” laughed Miss Hermitage again, “ I am not over- 
fond of my cousin Constantine. We two have quarreled like 
cat and dog all our lives. But I would give ten thousand 
pounds this moment to make him ten years younger. He is 
so unexpected ! ” 

Arthura’s fingers still toyed with Miss Hermitage’s ele- 
gant ruffles, faultless head-gear, and small hands, on which 
sparkled diamond rings. 

“ I wish I were like you ! ” cried the girl, forgetting for the 
moment all about Valerian, only recalled to the humorous 
side of the old life with him under their patroness’s roof. 
“ So neat,” she went on ; “ so exquisite, so perfect to look at ! 
You will let me dress you for grand occasions, as I used to 
do, won’t yqu ? ” 


202 


DISARMED. 


“ Well,” Miss Hermitage said, good-naturedly, “ I suppose 
the next fine clothes I have to buy will be for Valerian’s wed- 
ding. You will do him credit, my dear, and I can not see 
why you two should not get on together without scratching 
each other’s eyes out. I hope you don’t expect more. But 
Stephana, now, she will change her mind a dozen times. An 
angel from heaven would not satisfy her I And I know 
well enough Stephana’s machinations,” Miss Hermitage add- 
ed wickedly. “When I am gone she will make Valerian 
play philanthropic ducks and drakes with my money. She 
is bent upon that. Well, it won’t matter to me. The world 
may wag as it pleases when I am in my grave.” 

“ Don’t talk of your grave. Gossip,” Arthura said, kissing 
the neat, ivory-complexioned cheek. 

“ Why, what does it concern you where I am ? ” Miss Her- 
mitage said, with her little cynical laugh. “ It is impossible 
you can care about me.” Arthura looked shocked. “ I al- 
ways love people who are kind to me,” she said, with a 
flushed face and tears in her eyes. 

“ Had you not better go and talk to Colette ? ” said Miss 
Hermitage, growing uncomfortable. “ She is dying to see 
you. But don’t make her cry.” 

“Was Mademoiselle Colette in love with Valerian, then ? ” 
asked Arthura, again mischievous. 

“ How preposterous you are ! But you know Colette al- 
ways sheds tears when she hears of marriages. She is so 
sentimental.” 

True enough, when the warm-hearted little Frenchwoman 
had received Arthura’s palinode she did burst into a fit of 
weeping. 

“ You will love each other dearly, won’t you t ” she mur- 
mured as she shed tears of joy — “ like Ursula and John 
Halifax, in niy favorite novel. Won’t you, now Christina 
says it is all twaddle-dee-dum and twaddle-dum-dee. But I 
am sure I am right and she is wrong. How can two people 
help being fond and happy when they have taken each other 
for richer for poorer, for better for worse ? ” 

“I don’t see that it follows,” answered Arthura. 

“ But how beautiful it sounds ! ” went on Colette. “ ‘ To 
have and to hold, in sickness and health.’ You will be like 
Ursula, won’t you ? And if Valerian is not precisely a John 
Halifax, you will try to make him so ? ” 

“I won’t promise till I have read the book,” Arthura 


disarmed: 


203 


made reply. She was not addicted to the circulating libra- 
ries. 

“ Humph ! ” said Mr. Constantine, when the news was 
conveyed to him. “ As usual ! The unexpected about to 
happen, the unlooked-for brought about ! Well, women must 
fall in love and fall out of it. Men must take to themselves 
wives and sit for the inevitable unflattering portrait. But 
really, now, my Prospera matched with Mr. Pliable, and my 
beautiful Mystic with any of mortal kind ! ’Tis past all 
bearing. Why is love ever a will-o’-the-wisp, leading into 
quagmires ? But we wise heads may prate. No one listens 
to us. The wise marriages are still made in heaven — the 
whole history of woman is summed up in the tale of Titania 
and the ass’s head. There must be a compensation some- 
where, if we could but find it out.” 

Steppie, of course, had her comments. “Oh dear! oh 
dear ! ” she cried, between laughing and crying. “ I could 
dance for joy, although my heart is as heavy as lead. Ste- 
phana happy, Arthura happy ! The poor children provided for. 
No more bills 1 Every one happy but poor me. And I am 
happy, if I could but know it. But I never shall know it — 
never, never ! ” 


THE END. 



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QECRET 

Wy OF 

gEAUTY. 

How to Beautify the Complexion. 


All women know that it is beauty, rather than genius, which all generations 
of men have worshipped in the sex. Can it be wondered at, then, that so much 
of woman’s time and attention should be directed to the means of developing 
and preserving that beauty! The most important adjunct to beauty is a clear, 
smooth, soft and beautiful skin. With this essential a lady appears handsome, 
even if her features are not perfect. 

Ladies afflicted with Tan, Freckles, Rough or Discolored Skin, should lose 
no time in procuring and applying 

LAIRD’S BLOOM OF YOUTH. 


It will immediately obliterate all such imperfections, and is entirely harm- 
less. It has been chemically analyzed by the Board of Health of New York City, 
and pronounced entirely free from any material injurious to the health or skin. 

Over two million ladies have used this delightful toilet preparation and in 
every instance it has given entire satisfaction. Ladies, if you desire to be beauti- 
ful, give LAIRD’S BLOOM OP YOUTH a trial, and be convinced of its won- 
derful efficacy. Sold by Fancy Goods Dealers and Druggists everywhere. 

Price, 75c, per Bottle. Depot, 83 Jolin St., N. Y. 


FAIR FACES, 

And fair, in the literal and most pleasing sense, are 
those kept fresh and pure by the use of 

BUCHAN'S CARBOLIC TOILET SOAP 

This article, which for the past fifteen years has 
had the commendation of every lady who uses it, is 
made from the best oils, combined with just the 
proper amount of glycerine and chemically pure 
carbolic acid, and is the realization of a PER- 
FECT SOAP. 



It will positively keep the skin fresh, clear, and white; removing tan, 
freckles and discolorations from the skin; healing all eruptions; prevent chap- 
ping or roughness ; allay irritation and soreness ; and overcome all unpleasant 
effects from perspiration. 

Is pleasantly perfumed ; and neither when using or afterwards is the slight- 
est odor of the acid perceptible. 

BUCHAN’S CARBOLIC DENTAL SOAP 

Cleans and preserves the teeth; cools and refreshes the mouth; sweetens the 
breath, and is in every way an unrivalled dental preparation. 

BUf'HAlV’S CARBOLIC MEDICINAL SOAP cures all 
Eruptions and Skin Diseases. 





Lord Lytton’s Works. 

The Complete Works of Lord Lytton, printed from entirely new 
electrotype plates, handsomely bound in cloth, gilt. The best 
and cheapest edition. 

Last of the Babons, Pau- 

BANIAS AND CaIJ^EBON THE 
COUBTIEB. 

DEVEBEUX and THE DISOWNED 

Pelham and Ltjobetia. 

What will he do with It. 

Kenelm Chillingly and 
Rienzi. 

The Caxtons, The Coming 
Race and Leila. 

The Pakisi.\ns and Pilgbims 
OF THE Rhine. 


13 volumes, 12mo, cloth, gilt, . . . $19.50 

13 “ “ fine laid paper, cloth gilt,^top, 26.00 

13 “ “ half calf, . . . ’ . 39.00 


William Black’s Works. 


The Complete Works of William Black, printed from entirely 
new electrotype plates, handsomely bound in cloth, black and 
gold. 


I. 

A Pbinchss of Thule. 

IX. 

In Silk Attire. 


II. 

A Daughteb of Heth. 

X. 

The Three Feathers. 


III. 

Strange Adventures of a 
Phaeton. 

XI. 

Green Pastures and 

DILLY. 

PiCOA- 

IV. 

Madcap Violet. 

XII. 

Macleod of Dare. 


V. 

White Wings. 

XIII. 

Shandon Bells. 


VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

Kilmeny. 

Sunrise. 

That Beautiful Wbetch. 

XIV. 

XV. 

Yolande. 

An Adventure in 

Thule, 


Marriage of Moira 
AND Miscellaneous. 

Fergus 


15 volumes, 12mo, cloth, black and gold, . . $15.00 

15 “ “ half calf, .... 37.50 

Any volume sold separately, in cloth, price, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 


New York: JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 & 16 Vesey St 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 


My Novel. 

Last Days of Pompeii and 
Habold, 

A Stbange Stoby, The Haunt- 
ed House and Zanoni. 


Maltbavebs and 


Ebnest 
Alice. 

Paul Cliffobd and Eugene 
Abam. 


Night and 
Godolphin. 


Mobning and 


VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 
XIII. 


£KOCH UOBOAirS SOB'S* 



SAPOIIO 


OX.BAHS 

WINDOWS, 
MARBLB, 

KNIVEa 

POLISHB3 
TIN-WARE, 
IRON,SI£EL.AO. 



G-K..AJlSnD3 SQiTJ-AJEaE .A.35T1D XTIPIiia-ITT T^ t A -K rog, 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are so 
exacting, that very few piano-forte manufacturers can produce instru- 
ments that will stand the test which merit requires. 

SOHMER & Go. , as manufacturers, rank among this chosen few, 
who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In 
these days when many manufacturers urge the low price of their 
wares, rather than their superior quality, as an inducement to pur- 
chase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a piano, quality and 
price are too inseparably joined, to expect the one without the other. 

Every piano ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its 
touch, and its workmanship ; if any one of these is wanting in excel- 
lence, however good the others may be, the instrument will be imper- 
fect. It is the combination of all th. se qualities in the highest degree 
that constitutes the perfect piano, and it is such a combination, as has 
given the SOHMER its hono rable positi on with the trade and public. 

^ Pricesasreasonableasconsistent 

with the Highest Standard. 

manufacturers, 

149 to 155 East 14th St., N.Y. 



STANDARD PUBLICATIONS. 


Ohas. Dickens^ Complete "Works, 
15 Vole., 12mo, cloth, gilt, $22.50. 

W. M. Thackeray’s Complete 
Works, 11 Vole., 12mo, cloth, gilt, 
$16.50. 

JOHN W. 


George Eliot’s Complete Works, 
8 Vms., 12mo, cloth, gilt, $10.00. 
Plutarch’s Lives of Illustrioufl 
Men, 3 Vole., 12mo. cloth, gil^ 
$4.50. 

LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

14 AND 16 Vesbt Stbkkt, New York. 


STANDARD PUBLICATIONS. 


jtoUins* Ancient History, 4 Vole., 
1 ^ 0 , cloth, gilt, $6.00. 

Charles Knight’s Popular His- 
tory of England, 8 Yols., 12ixio, 
Clo^ght top, $12.00, 


Lovell’s Series of Bed Ling 
Poets, 50 Volumes of all the best 
works of the world’s great Poeta^ 
Tennyson, Shakespere, Milton, Mere- 
dith, Ingelow, Proctor, Scott, Byrav. 
Dante, &c. $1.25 pe» volume. 

JOHN w, LGVELL CO., Publishers, 

li AND 16 Vbsex Sibbsl Jmm 




■ ^ ^ JT jr'*fc — Bfk ■ BBB 1^1 mi6 fiUGfit Or^UTl 111 tllO 

1^ E ^ ^ 1^ 1^ ■ Market. Price reduced 

from $175 to $125. Acclimatized case. Anti-Shoddy and Anti-Monopoly. Kot all case, 
stops, top and advertisement. Warranted for 6 years. Has the Excelsior 18-Stop 
Comhination, embracing : Diapason, Flute, Melodia-Forte, Yiolina, Aeolina, Viola, 
Flute-Forte, Celeste, Dulcet, Echo, Melodia, Celestina, Octave Coupler, Tremelo, 
Sub-Bass, Cello, Grand-Orgran Air Brake, Grand-Organ Swell. Two Knee- 
Stops. This is a Walnut case, with Music Balcony, Sliding Desk, Side Handles, &c. 
Dimensions : Height, 75 inches ; Length, 48 inches ; Depth, 24 inches. This 6-Octave 
Organ, with Stool, Book and Music, we w ill box and deliver at dock in New York, for 
$1?5. Send tiy express, prepaid, check, or registered letter to 

SICKIITSOIT & CO., Pianos and Organs, 

19 West nth Street, New York. 




LOVELL'S XIBRARY. 


C^T-A-XiOa-XJE. 


85. 

86 . 

87. 

88 . 

89. 

90. 

91. 

93. 
9 :^. 

94. 

95. 

96. 

97. 

98. 

99. 
100 , 
101 . 
102 . 


103 

104. 

105. 

loe. 

107. 

108. 

109. 

110 . 
111 . 

11 . 2 . 

113. 

114. 

115. 

116. 

117. 

118. 

119. 

120 . 

121 . 

122 . 


Shandon Bells, by William Black. 20 

Monica, by The Duchess 10 

Heart and Science, by Wilkie Col- 
lins 20 

The Golden Calf, by Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

The Dean’s Daughter, by Mrs. 

Gore 20 

Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess., 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part 1 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part II 20 

Airj'Fa ry Lilian, by The Duchess. 20 
McLeod of Dare, by Wm. Black. 20 
Tempest Tossed, by Tilton, P’tl.20 
Tempest Tosseii, by Tilton, P’tII.20 
Letters from High Latitudes, by 

Lord Dufferin 20 

Gideon Fieyce, by Henry W. Lucy. 20 
India and Ceylon, by E. Hseckle. .20 
The Gypsy Queen, by Hugh De 

Normand 20 

The Admiral’s •Ward, by Mrs. 

Alexander v . 20 

Nimport, by E. L. Byuner, P’t. I. .13 
Nimport, byE. L. Bynner, P*t II. . 15 
Harry Hplbrookc, by Sir H. Ilan- 

dall Roberts. . .20 

Tritons, by E. Lasseter Bynner, 

Part I 15 

Tritons, by E. Lasseter Bynner, 

Part ll 15 

Let Nothing You Dismay, by Wal- 
ter Besant 10 

Lady Audley’s Secret, by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Woman’s Place To-Day, by Mrs. 

Lillie Devereux Blake 20 

Dunallau, by Kennedy, Part I... 15 
Dunallan, by Kennedy, Part II.. 15 
Housekeeping and Homo-Making, 

by Marion Harland 15 

No New Thing, by W. E. Norris.. 20 
The SpoopendykePapers, by Stan- 
ley Huntley 20 

False Hopes, by Goldwin Smith. .15 
Labor and Capital, by Edward 

Kellogg 20 

Wanda, by Ouida, Part 1 15 

Wanda, by Ouida, Part II.... ..15 
More Words About the Bible, by 

Rev. Jr.s. S. Bush... 20 

Monsieur Lecoq, byGaboriau.P’t 1.20 
MonsieiirLccoq, byGaboriau,p’t 11.20 
An Outline oi Irish History, by 

Justin H. McCarthy .....10 

The Lejouge Case, by Gaboriau . . 20 
Paul Clifford, by Lord Lyttou. . .20 
A New Lease of Life, by About. .20 

Bourbon Lillies 20 

Other Peoples’ Money, by Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

TheLadyof Lyons, by Lord Lytton.lO 
Axueliue tie Bourg la 


123. A Sea Queen, by W. Clark Russell. 20 

124. The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

125. Haunted Hearts, by J, P. Simpson. 10 

126. Loys, Lord Beresford, by The 

Duchess 20 

127. Under Two Flags, by Ouida, Pt I 20 
Under Two Flags, byOuida,P’t 11.20 

128. Money, by Lord Lytton 10 

129. In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau. 20 

130. India, by Max Muller 20 

181. Jets and Flashes 20 

132. Moonshine and Marguerites, by 

The Duchess. 10 

133. Mr. Scarborough’s Family, by 

Anthony Trollope, Part 1 15 

Mr. Scarborough’s Family, by 
Anthony Trollope, Part II. . . , . 15 
Arden, by A. Mary F. Roberts..: 15 
The Tower of Percemont, by 

George San<l 20 

Yolande, by Wm. Black. . . 20 

Cruel London, by Joseph Hatton. 20 
The Gilded Clique, by Gaboriau... 20 
Pike County Polks, by E. H. Mott.. 20 
Cricket on the Hearth, byDickens . 1 0 

Henry Esmond, by Thackeray 20 

Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, 

by Wm. Black i'^. 20 

Deni.s Duval, by W. M.Thackeray .10 
Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles 

Dickens, Part I 15 

Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles 

Dickens, Part II 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part II 15 

White Wings, by Wm. Black 20 

The Sketch Pook, by Irving. . . .20 
Catherine', by W. M. Thackeray 10 
Janet’s Rep<jntanctL by Eliot. .. .10 
Barnaby Kiidge, Dickens Part 1.15 
Paruaby Kudge, Dickens P t 11.15 
Pebx Holt, by George Eliot. .20 

Richelieu, by Lord Lytton 10 

Sunrit-e, by Wm. Black Part I... 15 
Sunrise, by Wm. Black Part II.. 15 
Tour of the World in 80 Days. ..20 

Mystery of Orcival, Gaboriau 20 

l.ovel, The Widower, by W. M. 

Thackeray 10 

The Romantic Adycniun s of a 

Milkmaid, by Tho- . Hardy 10 

D ivid < ’opperfleld . JPart 1 20 

David Copperiield, Part II 20 

Charlotte Temple. : . 10 

Rie.izi, by Lord Lytton. P.irtl. 10 
Rienzi, by Lord Lvetun. Parc II . 10 
Promise of Marriage, G.'ih >riau .25 
P.aith and ITnfaith, The Duchess 15 
The Happy Mau, Samuel Lover. 10 
Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray .20 
Eyre’s Acqiiitthl, Helen Mathers 10 
20.000 Leagues uudtjr the Sea, by 

» u ■ ■^ ■ . 3 ^ 


134. 

135. 

136. 
187. 

138. 

139. 

140. 

141. 

142. 

143. 

144. 


145. 

146. 

147. 

148. 
140. 

l-W. 

1.31. 

152. 

153. 

l.*4. 

156. 

157. 
1.18. 
r.s. 

luO. 

161. 

1C2. 

103. 

1G4. 

165. 

165. 



SOHMER & <X>., 


MAMUFACTURBBS OP 

foBd, Spare and Uprigbl Pianos, 


149 to 155 EAST 14th SL. NEW YORK. 


SOBMER 

GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT 

PIANOS. 


Superior to all others in Tone, Durability and Workmanship ; 
have the endorsement of the leading Artists. First Medal of 
Merit and Diploma of Honor at Centennial Exhibition. 

Musical authorities and critics prefer the SOHMER PIANOS, 
and they are purchased by those possessing refined musical taste 
and appreciating the richest quality of tone and highest perfection 
generally in a Piano. 






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